Separation
by hippielicious
Summary: Daryl is separated from his pregnant girlfriend during the outbreak and both of them are hoping that a stroke of dumb luck will bring them back together. Daryl x OC
1. Chapter 1

"I am so excited ta get yer pretty little ass all to myself fer two whole weeks."

Daryl stared happily at the dark-haired woman. Etta was an epidemiologist and had been away on business a lot in the past handful of months which was incredibly difficult for both of them. "You can't be half as excited as I am. I am getting sick and tired of some of my colleagues. God, when we were in India last week, I was about ready to drown them in the Ganges."

"The Ganges?" he asked.

"It's one of the biggest rivers in the world. It also happens to have bacteria levels that are about 2500 times the level considered safe, which is what we were studying."

"Jesus. Remind me again why I let ya go to these places."

"Because I am damn good at my job," she said sweetly. "Besides, I get a nice little bonus every time I am 'inconvenienced' by having to leave the country."

"I should make a list of the things I am goin' ta do to you while I got ya all ta myself."

Things were about to get a lot more interesting when they heard a slamming noise downstairs and Merle quickly appeared in their bedroom. "Holy Jesus fuck!" was Etta's response as she quickly tried to cover herself up. There was no way she was letting Merle see any part of her naked body.

Daryl was about to go into a rage before Merle held his hand up. "You two need to see this." He turned on the TV in front of their bed and changed the channel to a 24-hour news station.

The female reporter began talking about some type of weird "phenomenon" that was spreading through the nation. "We have not yet been informed why these people are acting the way they do, but the individuals affected are said to be cannibalizing in some cases." What they saw on the screen was like something out of a horror movie. It was a short clip of someone who looked almost dead attacking people just outside a restaurant.

"That's some messed up shit, and I wanted to know what yer stuck up, college fuck buddy had to say about it."

Daryl was about to go ballistic but Etta held him back as she narrowed her eyes at the screen. "I can't really make anything out, Merle. My guess would be drugs, given how that person looks."

Merle nodded slowly, trying to wrap his head around it. "Could be, I suppose."

"Now get the fuck out!" yelled Daryl.

"Fine, baby brother, I just thought you and yer fuck buddy should be informed."

As he left the house, Etta let herself relax a little. She was definitely not in the sexy mood after Merle stormed in and showed them the creepy shit on TV. Just as she was about to have Daryl make them some coffee, her cell phone began buzzing on the dresser. She groaned loudly and went to answer it. "Ben, why the hell are you calling? I'm on vacation, remember?" she asked her boss irritably. Her morning was quickly going from bad to worse.

"Have you seen that shit on TV?" he asked.

"Yeah. What about it?"

"It's some kind of disease and nobody knows what the hell it is. We need you to come to Atlanta."

"No way in hell, Ben! I only just got here. I'm sure there are plenty of other microbiologists out there that you can pluck from a lab and borrow for this."

"That's the thing, Etta: they _are_ bringing everyone in. Half the morons here don't specialize in epidemiology and the other half aren't even microbiologists. This shit is serious and it's getting out of control fast. We _need_ you, Etta – especially since you're so good with the weird shit. I also don't care if you are in the middle of an enormous fuck-fest with your redneck boyfriend." Etta and Ben shared a business relationship of mutual love and respect. "You need to get your ass over here now. We're sending a helicopter to get you in half an hour." She and Ben had been sent into a cholera epidemic together and after that, there really weren't any boundaries between them. They _certainly_ didn't worry about the typical etiquette that other bosses and employees put on.

"Fine," she growled. "But you _owe_ me, Ben."

After she hung up she began quickly throwing her things in a bag. "What the hell is going on?" Daryl asked.

"Apparently what we saw on TV is some kind of disease and they need me to come in." Daryl was about to protest before she held up her hand so he would let her finish. "Look, things are beginning to get very serious and they're shipping in microbiologists – many of which don't even specialize in disease – from everywhere to try and figure this shit out. I'm going to demand extra vacation time once this is all over and I'm sorry but I have to go. Look, I don't know what they're going to have me do when I get there, but I will call you as soon as I get some free time, okay?" She looked desperately at Daryl for his forgiveness.

He still looked pissed but sighed and nodded. "If ya have ta leave, then I guess I got no choice, do I?"

She shook her head before kissing him, having finished packing. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

When she landed in Atlanta, she was immediately met by Ben. "Look, kid, this is a real shit storm. We have a room set up for you, but you're going to have to leave your cell phone: they don't want communication in or out of this place unless it's sharing information on the disease with other facilities."

Etta threw her bag into the room then immediately ran to get her lab coat and catch up with Ben and meet someone afflicted with the disease. "Do we know what type of pathogen, yet?"

The older man shook his head. "We've been pumping all sorts of different shit into the test subjects. Every antibiotic on the planet, every antiviral, you name it and we're trying it."

"So we don't even know what it looks like?" she asked angrily. "I prefer to at least be able to look at the structure of whatever it is we're dealing with." They were moving quickly through the facility to an enormous lab where hundreds of doctors were working.

"No. Sorry. Look, you're going to have your own lab station with about ten people working under you."

"Ten people working under me? Ben, I've only been out of med school for three years and I've only been working with you for two! How the hell do I get ten people working under me?"

"Like I said: this shit's serious. The people running this circus from hell looked at your file and saw that you're good – and you _are_ good at what you do, Etta. Since you're an expert in figuring out the weird shit, they've set you up with your own station. You have twenty patients under your care and pretty much free reign to do whatever the hell you want since this place is the most disorganized operation I've ever worked in. Anyway, good luck kid and try to figure this shit out." He left her there alone in the crazy shuffle to run to his own disorganized work station, just as frazzled and confused as every other bastard in the place.

She rushed to her lab and saw the ten people working under her. "Okay, so what do you guys specialize in?"

One of them looked nervously at her. "Some of us aren't even out of med school yet, Dr. Weaver."

"What?"

"They aren't really letting us do anything besides what you tell us to do, but they needed people to work here, so they've brought anyone who isn't working at the hospitals that can even _sort of_ count as a doctor."

She sighed, trying not to let the horrible situation get to her. "Okay, show me to the patients."

They led her to a row of beds with people in different states. The first few in the row were running fevers that were worse than anything Etta had ever seen, even with the efforts the med students had made at trying to bring the fever down. Near the end of the row was where things were getting really ugly, though.

"They don't even look alive," she gasped. "Why are they restrained?"

The med student who was probably the elected spokesman for the group tried to explain. "Whenever anyone gets near them, they try to eat people. We have to restrain them not only to prevent that but also to prevent any kind of bite or scratch."

"It spreads from biting and scratching?" The student nodded and Etta began making very fast notes on a notepad she had been given. "So what do their vitals look like when they get like this?" she asked, indicating to the restrained patients.

"Well, they don't really have vitals."

What? Impossible. She went over to one of the restrained ones and held the jaw away as she searched for a pulse in every area she could possibly think of, but there wasn't a pulse. They were dead.

She took a very small tissue sample off the one at the end and brought it over to a lab table. After a few minutes analyzing it, she realized that the flesh was in the beginning stages of decomposition. How could they still be moving and trying to eat people when they were dead and decaying?

She turned to the 'spokesman' of the med students. "Hey Robertson, get your ass over here." This was no time to make niceties. Every piece of information she gathered defied the logic that she had worked with since med school. Robertson hurried over. "I want to analyze his brain. Get the necessary equipment. Do you know how to use it?" He nodded. "Good. Set it up and I'll be back in a few minutes."

She couldn't find Ben anywhere but she saw Dennis Hall who she had worked with before and ran over to his lab area. "What the hell is this?" she demanded. "They're _dead_."

He nodded wearily, looking like he hadn't gotten sleep in days. "We haven't been able to explain it yet. They have some brain function after they 'die' but I have no idea how their body continues to function."

"They have no pulse, Dennis. They shouldn't even be moving, nevertheless _eating_ people."

"None of us have any answers, Etta. All I can say is that this is the craziest shit I have ever seen and I've been doing this for thirty years now."

"That makes two of us."

They heard screaming at Etta's work station and both doctors ran over to see what was happening. One of the 'patients' had managed to escape its restraints and bitten Robertson. But not before ripping out the throat of one of the other med students. "Two of you grab the arms without getting scratched and I'll grab the head. Then two other people will fasten the restraints again." The students stared at her for a second before she shouted "Now!"

Once that situation was taken care of she turned her attention to Robertson. "Get a bed for Robertson; he's a patient now." She could see tears swimming in his eyes as he realized he had more or less been given a death sentence.

Then, she turned her attention to the girl who had bled out on the floor from having her throat ripped out and tried to compose herself. Ben was right: this place was absolutely insane. The girl had been dead for close to five minutes and Etta was about to have the other med students take her to a morgue when she began moving. She hadn't even died from the fever yet the disease had managed to work its way through her system! There was no way they would be able to take care of her body without significant risk of being bitten or scratched. As Etta searched for a solution in her head, a guard who had been standing at one of the entrances walked up and started shooting the girl as she approached Etta and the med students. The bullets in her chest were doing nothing to slow her down but then the guard put a bullet in her head and she dropped immediately to the floor.

The room went quiet except for the moaning of the patients who had, for lack of a better word, reanimated. All the doctors were staring at the guard in disbelief when Etta carefully approached him and put a gentle hand on his arm, helping him lower his weapon. "Thank you," she said, though it hurt her to say it. "I don't know what we would have done if you hadn't stepped up." That much was completely true. "It's okay. Just go back to doing what you were doing."

She supposed she wasn't going to sleep for a while because this place was going to hell.

* * *

Etta splashed water on her face and stared into her bloodshot, brown eyes. She hadn't slept for more than an hour at a time in the past two days and the situation continued to worsen. The disease was spreading like wildfire through the general population which didn't come as much of a surprise. Families would care for their sick loved ones until they died and when they reanimated, they would bite their caregivers if they didn't just eat them alive. Before long, the whole family would be infected then break into the streets to terrorize other people.

The facility had gone to hell, too. If anyone let their guard down they could be bitten by the reanimated 'patients' only to suffer the same fate. She was about to reenter the general lab area from the bathroom but when she peered through the glass on the door, she saw soldiers filing in from a different entrance. Under normal circumstances, she may have just gone in anyway but every single pore in her body shouted at her to run and leave Atlanta far behind her.

Instinct got the better of her as she ran to the room she had thrown her bag into, hearing gunfire as she ran. Just before escaping the building she ran face-first into a much larger body. She was terrified that it was someone from the military there to shoot her, but she saw it was Ben. "Etta, you're alive," he said, clearly in a state of shock. He stared at her with a dazed expression before snapping out of it and grabbing her hand. "We have to get out of here."

He led her to a small helicopter pad just outside of the facility and helped her into the helicopter along with two other men. She tried to process it all as the helicopter flew them out of the city and night began to fall but her mind was so strained from the past couple days that there was no way she was going to be able to wrap her head around the situation at that moment.

Once the helicopter landed, about ten miles outside of the city, they all filed out. The five survivors looked at each other but before they could say anything they saw helicopters heading to Atlanta to drop napalm. Etta felt her knees go weak as she collapsed onto the ground feeling her vision blur then go into darkness. The days without sleep had finally caught up with her.

* * *

Only a day earlier Daryl was watching the news and saw how fucked up things were getting all over the country. He couldn't believe Etta was gone but what was worse was the fact that she hadn't called him or answered any of his calls. They had been living together when she had investigated cholera epidemics, weaponized anthrax, and even a new Ebola strain, but she had _always_ called within twenty four hours of her arrival at the location. Even if she couldn't talk, she would typically text at least once a day to let him know that nothing crazy had happened. This time was different.

He turned the damn thing off and decided to shower in an attempt to clear his mind, not that he thought it would actually work. He was a wreck and felt as if he could fall apart at any moment. He had even seen a couple infected people in the tiny town that he and Etta lived in, which only served to increase his anxiety. This shit was out of control and she had to be right in the goddamn middle of it.

After his shower, he couldn't take it anymore and punched the wall. It hurt like hell but he wanted to do it again. As he wound himself up for another round of wall boxing, he tipped over the tiny trash can Etta kept in her bathroom.

Etta hated messes so he set it upright again and began placing the tissues back inside when he saw a small, purple box that sent his heart rate up into doubletime. Within a matter of moments found something else that was definitely _not_ a tissue and had a pink plus sign on it. "Aw _hell,_ Etta!" he shouted. If he had been worried before he was now panicking. Why the fuck hadn't she told him? He would have never let her go knowing that he had knocked her up.

Before he could take his anger out on the wall again he heard Merle's voice echoing through the tiny house. "It is time to _go_ , little bro!" his voice reverberating off the walls. "There's supposed to be some kind of safe zone or whatever in Atlanta so that is where we're headed."

"No, I ain't goin' nowhere."

"The hell are you talkin' 'bout? 'Course yer comin' so get yer sorry ass movin'."

"Etta ain't here. I ain't leavin' without her."

"She's _in_ Atlanta, you dumb shit! If she's alive, she is goin' to be in that safe zone."

"What do you mean 'if she's alive'?"

"The way things are lookin' bro, there are a lotta dead people. But we ain't goin' ta know if she's dead unless we haul ass to Atlanta so grab yer shit and let's go. I got everythin' of mine the truck already."

Daryl knew that Merle was right – that they couldn't stay there. That didn't stop him from leaving a note for Etta in case she came back, though. He even left a little food…just in case.

His mood continued to darken the further away they got from their home in the backwoods of Georgia because all he could think about was Etta. He shouldn't have let her go. To make matters worse, the traffic heading into Atlanta was backed up for miles and as far as he was concerned, that traffic was preventing him from finding her. He got out of the truck looking to pick a fight with someone who he could take his anger out on when he saw that Atlanta was being bombed. No. No, they couldn't do that – not with Etta in the city. He collapsed to his hands and knees trying to prevent himself from completely losing it. She was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two Years Prior to the Apocalypse**

The hot Georgia sun beating down on her was an unpleasant sensation though it wasn't a foreign one. Etta certainly didn't _want_ to be in Georgia – and she sure as hell didn't want to live there – but she had been given so very few options that this was really her only choice. Now she was stopping by a small local store to pick up some cleaning supplies and food before seeing what condition her grandmother's old home had been. She knew that the home really wasn't much – only one bedroom if she recalled correctly. But she also knew a few, much more important, details on the house: it was completely paid off so she wouldn't have to pay a mortgage, and this town was dirt cheap to live in. The home was even still furnished. For someone who had scarcely been out of college a year and was up to their eyeballs in debt she couldn't do much better.

The store clerk smiled at her as she piled grocery items and cleaning products in her basket, careful not to forget the most important item on her list: beer. If she had to clean her house, she certainly wasn't going to do so while sober. Right as she had placed the basket on the counter to check out, the bell on the door chimed and she heard a man's voice shout, "Now ain't that a nice new piece of ass?"

She turned and saw that two men had entered the store and the older one was eying her up and down like she was a piece of meat. The store clerk, meanwhile, appeared terrified of the two men so it looked as if she would have to handle this herself. "Can I help you?" she asked coldly.

"You sure can, Sugar Tits. I would love nothin' more than to ride you for a night."

She nodded, as if she was considering the offer. "Well, in the event you get anywhere near me, I may just have to infect you with cholera," she informed him lightly. "Actually, I think I'd _rather_ have cholera than sleep with you."

She heard a chuckle from the other man who had entered with the horny one. "What did you did say to me?" the older one asked threateningly.

"Merle, just leave her be," the other one begged.

"No, I want to know why this bitch thinks she can mouth off!"

"In case you didn't pick up on it," she informed Merle "I just told you to fuck off. I suggest you do so, because I can easily get my hands on those cholera samples I told you about and cholera is some nasty shit, my friend."

"Come on, Daryl. I don't want to breathe this same air as that ugly slut."

The older one stormed out while the younger one dutifully followed him. The store clerk stared at her in horror. "Do you know who those two are?"

"Considering I've been in town for an entire ten minutes now, I'm going to say no."

"Those are the Dixon brothers. I hate to say it, Miss, but that was a big mistake. You don't want to piss off Merle Dixon because he is going to make your time here a living hell. Every stint he has in town there's always trouble," the clerk grumbled. "You're just lucky you's a woman because otherwise Merle would have beat you within an inch of yer life for mouthin' off like that."

"Good to know, but I'm not really concerned." Her eyes drifted to the doorway. "Is the other one a dick, too?"

The clerk shrugged. "I ain't never had no trouble with Daryl. If he comes into town without Merle there ain't likely to be a problem. You ain't from here, though, is ya?"

Etta shook her head. "I'm from Oregon."

"Well, I best warn ya now: this place ain't nothin' like Oregon."

"So I've noticed. Thank you for the advice, but I have to go and see what kind of shape my house is in."

Etta noticed that her Subaru Outback stood out among all the pickup trucks parked around but what irritated her was the fact that it had been keyed. It would seem the Dixon brothers had figured out which car belonged to her. (Her lack of Southern accent may have been a dead giveaway as the owner of the Subaru.) She sighed as she dropped her grocery bags into the car and decided not to file a police report. She had already pissed them off and it wasn't like her Subaru was exactly 'new'. It had over two hundred thousand miles on it and had only cost a little fewer than four thousand when she bought it. It wasn't worth more trouble with them.

Her grandmother's house was a fifteen minute drive out of the small town she now had to live in, which suited Etta perfectly fine. The less often she had to talk to people here the better. Pulling up to it, Etta realized how much work it was going to be to even _begin_ fixing it up. It appeared as if her grandmother had been unable to keep up the house before she had died. Now the place had been empty for a few years and was likely going to take a lot of work to make habitable.

When she stepped in, her worst fears about the condition were confirmed. The entire house was covered in a thick layer of dust and had an unpleasant smell which she could only assume was a combination of dirt and lack of habitation. The upstairs was small – more of a loft. However, Etta was pleased to find that most of the appliances and fixtures in the bathroom and kitchen were in working order, if not the most updated. Sighing and pulling the top off of her beer, Etta set to work.

* * *

After a few days she had managed to make the house look reasonably decent. The walls were still a rough, exposed wood and the floors were covered in splinters, but so long as Etta wore shoes she would be fine. The furniture was in decent shape and she had even found a very small room on the first floor where she could cram her office supplies and lab equipment.

Her cellphone rang and she saw it was her boss. She answered it eagerly, hoping he had some type of long-term project that would keep her out of town for a month. "Hey Ben," she said with a smile.

"Hey kid, how's the new house?"

"Well, I live in a very basic home outside of a hick town in the backwoods of Georgia. You can imagine how excited I am."

"Better than living out of hotels, though," he reminded her. "Cheaper, too."

"Yeah. Please tell me that we have a trip into an epidemic that will pull me away from this place."

"Nope," he said, sounding as if he took a little delight in her pain. "I just wanted to let you know that I sent you a handful of pictures from some interesting samples. If you open your email, you'll find them there. We _do_ have a special medical conference in Atlanta next week, though. It's going to be a epidemiologist's dream."

"You're telling me that what is more or less going to be a glorified college lecture is going to be a dream?" she deadpanned.

"Well, maybe not a dream, but it will be more interesting than most of those damn things we have to attend."

"Okay, I'll be there. Just don't look at my car when I arrive."

"Why?" he asked guardedly.

"Well, let's just say that I've already managed to piss off the resident jackasses who terrorize the town."

"Wow. That must be some type of record."

"Probably," she said irritably. "I'll check out those samples and then send you an analysis by tomorrow afternoon. Any particular anomalies I'm looking for?"

"Just tell me what you see. I'm sure you'll find what we need, kid."

She pulled up the files on her computer and realized right away that the samples were weird. The structure of the bacteria was completely different than was normal for anthrax. "Well, well, well," she mused. "Someone's been busy."

She began the report identifying the sample as weaponized anthrax before deciding to call it a night. It was only four in the afternoon but what the hell, she had all day tomorrow.

To keep herself occupied, she decided to inspect the woods on her property and see if she could find anything interesting. She paused at one point, feeling the hair on the back of her neck prickle uncomfortably, as if she was being watched. She stopped in her tracks and was looking around before an arrow whizzed right by her face which elicited what she considered to be a very appropriate response. "Holy Jesus fuck!" she shrieked.

"That's an interestin' phrase."

She turned to see one of the Dixon brothers coming towards her. He had a string of squirrels slung over his shoulder and a crossbow in his hand. "Forgive me for reacting when an _arrow_ passed in front of my fucking face," she hissed sarcastically.

"I wadn't about ta hit ya," he replied.

She struggled to remember which brother it was and assumed it was the younger one, given that he wasn't entirely unpleasant in every single way possible. "Why the hell are you even on my property?" she demanded.

"I was huntin' squirrels," he said, as if that were the most normal activity in the world. "'Sides, I didn't know it was you livin' here, now. The old lady's been gone for a long while. This property's a real good place for huntin' – lots of deer and shit."

Completely unbelievable. "I would prefer if you wouldn't hunt here anymore. Consider it a thank-you for keying my car."

He shrugged amicably. "Wadn't my idea. Was Merle's."

"I figured as much."

Daryl sauntered over to the squirrel that was now pinned dead on a tree a few feet away from Etta. "Well, if ya don' want me here, I guess I'll be goin' then."

"Thank you." It seemed the clerk was right: Daryl wasn't much trouble. That is, he wasn't much trouble until she was halfway to her house and she heard him yell "Son of a bitch!"

That didn't sound normal. She sighed irritably before doubling back to see what was wrong. What she saw was completely unexpected, though. Dixon's leg was stuck in an animal trap. "Fucking hell, bitch. Ya don't need ta lay these down ta keep people off yer property."

" _I_ didn't lay them down," she said defensively. "I haven't even been here a week! Some redneck asshole who wanted to trap animals on my property must have set these traps before I even got here."

She ran over and saw that it was a really old-fashioned trap but somehow when she and Dixon worked together they managed to unclamp the metal jaws from his leg. "Here, let me take you to a hospital."

"No way in hell," he replied angrily. "I ain't got no insurance. And I ain't got the cash ta pay fer something like this. I'll take care of it myself."

"No you fucking won't! You'll just make things worse. If you won't go to the hospital at least come inside and let me take care of it."

"Why tha hell is you any better than me?"

"Because _I'm_ a fucking doctor, asshole," she yelled. She had never met someone so frustrating. "So get your ass inside before I knock you out with a branch and drag you there myself!"

He looked astonished at her intensity and began hobbling towards her house, leaning on her so he wouldn't fall over. It was a good thing Daryl had gone on this hunt alone because if Merle saw him now he would never hear the end of it. What he _did_ hear was the doctor angrily mumbling under her breath. "Take care of it himself? Dumbest fucking idea ever."

When they got inside, he was surprised at how simple the house was, even on the inside. He expected a doctor would have some kind of really fancy place set up. She didn't notice him drop his squirrels on the floor in front of the doorway as they went to the kitchen, but on the way they passed a small room where he saw a shit ton of lab equipment. "Get on the table and stay there," she ordered. He sure as hell wasn't about to argue because the bitch was starting to scare him now.

She left for a moment and came back with a bunch of sterile gauze and a needle to sew him up. Before doing this, she turned on the kitchen light, allowing her to see the wound better and pulled on latex gloves. "I don't see any extensive tissue damage and no damage to the bone it seems, either, which makes you one lucky bastard. It's going to need stitches, though, and you sure as hell better not push it for a while."

She cleaned his leg and got the bleeding under control before injecting it with something that numbed it. Daryl didn't feel comfortable just sitting there while she stitched him up, so he decided to ask some questions. "Why the hell is a doctor livin' in a place like this? You're in the backwoods of Georgia in a small, shitty house."

She glanced up at him momentarily, brown eyes meeting blue. "I'm living here because I'm piss poor. The house doesn't have a mortgage and is pretty cheap to live in plus this town is cheap _as hell_ to live in."

"That don't make no sense. There ain't no jobs here for a doctor and besides, doctors are rich."

"Not this one," she retorted. "This doctor has debt from medical school coming out of her ass and needs a cheap place to stay for the few days she doesn't have to be out of town on work."

"What the hell kind of doctor are you, anyway? All that lab equipment?"

"I'm an epidemiologist."

"So that means ya work with germs and shit." Her entire face lit up in shock. "What? Surprised that I don't got shit for brains, doc?"

"Even a lot of people who don't have shit for brains don't understand what I do."

"So, what, you work with some of the nasty shit?"

"Not necessarily," she drawled. "I mostly work with the weird stuff or with epidemics. I'll be sent into places with Ebola, cholera, anthrax, avian flu, you name it. Apart from that, if someone finds something…anomalous, then they either send me the info on my computer or I leave town to check out the patient and/or samples myself."

"Well, shit. And you don't get paid well fer that?"

"Well, not enough that my college debt is going to suddenly disappear and I can live in the lap of luxury. In a few years I'll probably start making more, but for the time being the pay isn't that great." Now he was staring at her. "What? Do you hate me less now that you know I don't have any money?"

"Yeah I do, actually." His response only received an eye roll from the dark-haired woman as she continued her work. "So you really wadn't kidding when you told Merle ya'd slip him some cholera."

"Hell, no. I never make a threat I can't follow through on." After wrapping the wound up she pulled the gloves off and washed her hands. "I can remove the stitches sometime in the next couple weeks for you. I won't be in town until probably next Thursday, though, so they're undoubtedly going to be a bitch by the time I get back."

"I've had stitches before; I know they itch like hell."

She nodded. "I'm going to prescribe you some painkillers and antibiotics."

"Ain't necessary."

"Yes they are, and you are going to take this prescription."

"No. I already got me a bunch of kickass painkillers and antibiotics at home." She stared at him with questioning eyes. "Merle's got a lot of first class shit as far as the painkillers go and the antibiotics is good, too. Merle gets the clap more often than he'd like."

"Lovely," she replied sarcastically. She scribbled something down on a slip of paper. "This is my phone number. Call me when you want to get the stiches out and I'll meet you anywhere you want at any time you want."

"Wow. Merle was so upset you didn't want ta bang him and here I got yer number."

"Shut the fuck up, Dixon. You're free to go now."

He laughed at the horror on her face as he picked up the squirrels at her door and went on his way. (Apparently she was some sort of clean freak.) Merle may not like her, but he thought the good doctor wasn't half bad. He sure as hell didn't have a problem with her.

* * *

Daryl spent the following weeks staring at the phone number the doc had written down in her incredibly messy handwriting – seems the stereotype came from somewhere after all. He hadn't been thinking about it after his leg had been torn up by that trap, but she was actually pretty good looking, which made him actually clean up so he wouldn't look like hell when he went over. The phone rang twice before he heard her voice on the other end. "I'm assuming it's you, Dixon, because you're the only person in this town who has my number and who would have any reason to call me."

"Good guess. I'm ready to get these damn stitches out."

"Alright, is there any particular place you want to meet or do you just want to come here again?"

"Your place works."

"Alright, see you soon then."

He took his truck over to her place and parked it next to her hippie car that was now adorned with scratches compliments of Merle. As soon as he walked in she led him to the kitchen again and she began carefully removing the stitches. "My congratulations, Mr. Dixon – the wound isn't completely septic. It's pretty clean, actually."

"My name is Daryl. It's fucking weird hearin' ya call me _Mr. Dixon._ " She shrugged, indifferent to what she was supposed to call him. "What's your name, anyway? Never did hear ya say it."

"Etta Weaver."

"The hell kind of name is Etta?"

"What the hell kind of names are Merle and Daryl? If you must know, it's a nickname."

"And yer real name is?"

Her pale cheeks turned pink and she muttered "Henrietta." This caused Daryl to laugh outright at the weird name. "It's a family name because apparently the people of my family like to torture their offspring."

"Well, Henrietta, are you plannin' on takin' care of them traps out there?"

"If you call me Henrietta again, I will open this wound up right now and ensure that it does become septic. To answer your question, though, I haven't done anything about the traps and I'm not overly eager to go traipsing through the woods and getting my leg caught as well." Daryl snorted in what sounded to her like disgust. Turning even pinker she asked, "Do you care to remove them?"

"Are ya crazy?"

"I'll pay you." Things were serious now that money was involved as both Daryl and Etta knew that the other didn't have much.

"I thought you was piss poor?"

"I am. I get paid tomorrow and will have a little extra cash. I was going to use it to try and do work on the house, but I suppose the traps take precedence. Would a hundred dollars suffice?"

"Hell, I guess. You really don't want to get rid of 'em yerself do ya?"

Etta wasn't about to tell him that the real reason she wanted him to do the job was because she wanted an excuse to see him again. "No those things scare the shit out of me."

"Ebola don't scare you but those things do? Maybe you are crazy."

"Probably." And by probably, she meant that she was probably crazy for thinking the redneck hick on her kitchen table was attractive and that she actually liked talking to him. "Care to seal the deal with a beer?"

"Etta, you ain't never gonna hear me say no to a beer."

 **A/N: So, after this what I'm planning for the next few chapters is to have a chapter that is set partially during the apocalypse and then show a flashback from before the apocalypse. Thoughts? Hope you enjoyed the flashback!**


	3. Chapter 3

Etta felt like hell. She had just woken up from the first real sleep that she had gotten in days but she couldn't hold any food down and her entire body felt out of sync with itself.

She heard the pilot say "Maybe she's sick with it. We can't just let her turn."

Thankfully, Ben came to her rescue. "She doesn't have a fever. If she was going to turn, she would have a fever so don't you dare touch her." He walked over to her to check her over. They hadn't brought any medical supplies with them, so he had no idea how he was going to fix this if it became worse. He still looked her over – checking her pulse, looking at her pupils, etc. "You look terrible."

"I know," she moaned. "You don't need to tell me. Look, I'm just going to change out of this lab coat into something more comfortable. You said there's a stream nearby?" He nodded and pointed her in the right direction.

She knew it was morning sickness and she knew that the hours she had worked at the lab had _not_ been good for her so the combination of the two was wreaking havoc. She sighed as she pulled off the clothes she had been wearing the entire time she had been in the lab and stepped into the stream. It wasn't exactly a relaxing bath, but feeling the water on her was heavenly.

Etta couldn't for the life of her remember what she had thrown in her bag before she left but was delighted to see that she had done a decent job. She pulled on a tank top and shorts in hopes that she wouldn't get too hot now that they didn't have the air conditioning to protect them from the Georgian heat. She also pulled her long black hair back so it wouldn't touch her neck and trap the heat. Deodorant – a must.

She felt _horrible_ not knowing where Daryl was but more for Daryl's sake than her own. She knew that he was alive; after all, nothing can kill a Dixon except for a Dixon. But he had no way of knowing if _she_ was alive and knowing that he was in that pain caused her chest to ache with regret. She was the reason he was hurting right now and there was nothing she could do about it. After allowing herself a few minutes to cry she pulled herself together because she could no longer afford to fall apart. From that moment onward, she would be impervious to anything and everything and survive as if she were a Dixon.

As she arrived back at the camp she had to finally orient herself. "Where are we, Ben?"

"Right now we're about ten miles outside of Atlanta but as soon as we salvage everything we need from the helicopter we're going to go even further away because the infected are still running rampant around the city and we need to get as far away as possible. Are you okay to walk?"

She nodded. "I'm fine – just nauseous. How the hell did we even get out of there in the first place?"

"I have friends who owed me a favor and you're my friend so that's how we both got out of there alive. If you hadn't left the lab when you did, you would be dead."

She nodded, realizing that she had actually had a stroke of luck during this mess. Then, she gently asked "Do you know if your wife and kids made it?"

"No. I don't even know if they're still in Georgia. Eileen's parents live up in Wisconsin so she may have tried to go there or she may have tried to go to Atlanta like everyone else did. This is assuming they weren't infected."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. And she meant it because she had a very strong idea of how he felt.

"What about your redneck?"

"I'm sure Daryl is alive somewhere, roughing it with his brother. I just have no idea where they are, though my guess would be they're probably still in Georgia." She paused, deciding that Ben should know that she was pregnant. "At least I know where the kid is."

"You don't have any kids," he scoffed, before finally understanding what she meant. "Etta," he moaned irritably. "What are you going to do?"

"Well at this point there isn't much that I _can_ do except keep myself alive. I hadn't even told Daryl yet because I'd only known for a day before you called me to Atlanta."

"At least we know why you're sick," he mumbled as he rubbed his temples. "You picked the wrong time to get knocked up."

"You're telling me. On top of it all I probably won't see Daryl again and we don't know where the hell we're going to stay."

"No, but we have a tent, a little bit of food and clean water, and some guns. That's about it, so I suggest you put that pack on and we get moving."

* * *

Daryl glared morosely at the cop as he gave orders, acting like he was in charge or something. Well, he wasn't about to take orders from a damn cop. He grabbed his crossbow and a crowbar that someone had left lying around and began to storm out of camp. "Where ya goin' little brother?"

Merle didn't have any concern on his face, not that Daryl cared. "Shooting practice," he replied gruffly. "Don't expect me back anytime soon."

After he had left the quarry he went looking for those damn things so that he could shoot every single goddamn one of them sumbitches. He had walked at least ten miles out before he saw his first one. He left the crossbow for emergencies only and happily swung the crowbar at the face of the infected bastard. Even after he had hit it in the brain he continued to smack it with the crowbar.

After repeating this process several times, he was beginning to return to camp when his final proxy bastard of the evening stumbled towards him. It went down just as easily as all the others and the only satisfaction he took from it was yelling "shouldn't have let her go" as he beat the lifeless corpse.

"That ain't healthy, son."

He whirled around to see an old man staring at him – the one with the RV and the stupid hat. Though, he didn't know why the geezer was so far from camp. Maybe he had seen Daryl from the top of that RV of his. "Ain't none of yer business, old man. Now leave me be."

"Well, unfortunately that crowbar belongs to Jim and he's begun to miss it." He eyed the younger man up and down as the necrotic blood dripped from Daryl's face. "Who were you talking about when you were hitting that thing? Who's 'her'?"

"Now that _really_ ain't none of yer business. Back off before I do to you to what I did to this dead bastard."

He threw the crowbar to the old man's feet before he began to head in the direction of camp.

The next morning, Dale watched the young man with the crossbow as he left camp to go hunting. He had apparently guaranteed that he would not come back empty-handed which had lifted the spirits of some of the other people in the group. "What is that guy's problem?"

Dale noticed that a young Asian boy had sidled in next to him, clearly talking about Daryl. "My assumption is that he, like everyone else here, has lost someone. He's not handling it well. I think he blames himself for it."

"What makes you say that?"

"I accidentally stumbled upon a 'therapy' session of his last night and it certainly looked to me like he felt guilty, not that I'm saying his guilt is warranted."

Daryl had caught five squirrels in the hour he had been out in the woods that morning but what he really wanted to catch was a deer – a big one that would take all of his energy to haul back to camp and skin. All he could think about was the fact that Etta had gone to Atlanta without telling him she was pregnant. Had she even planned on telling him? She may not have wanted to have kids with a redneck asshole like him and if that was the case she could have just decided to end it without a word to him about it. Hell, he would have been willing to go along with whatever she wanted, so there wasn't a damn reason in the world why she couldn't have said anything.

He couldn't decide whether it was better or worse to believe she was dead. The thought of it made him feel nauseous and his entire upper body tighten, making it difficult to breathe. But if he thought about it, the alternative wasn't much better. She might be alone in the woods right now and eventually starve to death. If she _was_ still pregnant then she would be having an even more difficult time – a thought which only served to increase his anxiety. He also imagined what could happen if she ran into a group of people who did not have…benevolent intentions.

When he stumbled back into camp he brought the squirrels over to Merle's ugly ass. "Gotta skin these squirrels an' cook 'em," he muttered.

Merle eyed Daryl as his younger brother angrily began cutting into his first squirrel. "Bro, I don't see why yer so cut up 'bout that coos. It ain't worth yer time and you'll move on 'fore too long."

Daryl narrowed his eyes at his brother and his demeanor immediately became more aggressive. "You don't know nothin' 'bout it," he growled.

"That bitch didn't care about you! I am the only one who cares about you, Little Brother."

Daryl shot up from the sitting position he had been in and sheathed his knife. "Even if that was true, I'd still want her ta be here. Skin the goddamn squirrels yerself."

* * *

Etta stood on the complete opposite side of Atlanta, helping pitch a tent for the night. The pilot of the helicopter, whose name was Art, had taken on a role as leader and began making decisions. "We need to have someone on watch at all times. That way, if they see one of those things, they can shoot them. Before that, though, we need to get a fire going so we can have some hot food tonight."

"I wouldn't recommend that," Ben said nervously.

"An' why is that?" Art began to lean in really close to Ben's face.

"Because they can see it." He turned his attention to Etta, who had come to Ben's defense.

"They're dead. How the hell can they see?"

"They're not supposed to move, either," she reminded him. "From what little research we were able to do it appears as if only certain parts of the brain come back when people turn into those things. There are a number of areas in the brain associated with visual and audio perception. I'm not saying that they can see and hear the way we do, but some of those areas come back because those things can see and hear. If we have a fire, they'll see it and if someone shoots off their gun, the sound will draw others to us."

"Alright, _doctor_ , if you say so. But you get to take the first watch. We'll each take a two hour shift. No complaints." He handed her a small handgun then said "Just in case."

Art may have been nasty to deal with, but he wasn't stupid; he knew to listen to the people who had actually researched those things. He also wanted to get on the lady doctor's good side because when there's only one woman left, she begins to look more and more appealing each day. He figured his chances with her weren't any worse than anyone else.

Etta didn't mind taking a few hours for watch because it gave her some peace and quiet to think even if she had to be alert. This way, she had time to think about her situation. She and Daryl had never talked about kids and she had never been given an impression that he liked or disliked them – unsurprising since Daryl was so difficult to read. She had no idea how he would have reacted if she had told him, wishing that she had. But she knew what to do now. Her number one priority was to find a safe place, have her baby, and make sure that nothing dangerous even got _near_ it. After all, her baby was all she had left of Daryl; she wasn't about to let that slip through her fingers.

Art sat down next to her and asked "Do you care for some company?" he asked, insinuating that casual conversation wasn't the only thing he had in mind.

Could he be more obvious? "I'm perfectly fine keeping watch on my own, thanks," she replied tersely.

"Listen, sweetheart, I understand how difficult it must be to be the only woman in this camp."

"I _really_ don't think that you do." Now he was really beginning to irritate her. In fact, he was the only thing that was making it difficult to be a woman at the moment with his 'sweetheart' attitude.

"I get it. As a woman you're going to feel pretty defenseless and you're going to want protection in order to survive. All I'm saying is that I can provide that for you."

She raised her eyebrows in stunned disbelief. "First of all, I am not defenseless. I know how to shoot a gun fairly well, I keep myself pretty fit, and I can identify a number of edible plants and mushrooms out here. Thanks to a few of my acquaintances, I have picked up some very important survival skills. I also happen to have at least a very basic understanding of how those dead things work – at least more than you do. So, if it isn't too much to ask, please do not imply that I am helpless because that could not be further from the truth." She was now more grateful than ever that she had spent the last two years sleeping with Daryl. He had taught her a thing or two about survival, among many other skills.

He seemed shocked that she had actually turned him down while at the same time saying that she could take care of herself. " _You_ know how to shoot a gun?" he scoffed.

"Yes. Now I would appreciate it if you would please leave me alone."

"Is it you and the old guy? Is that why?"

She rubbed her temples in irritation. "No. Ben and I are not even remotely attracted to each other. However, since we're on the topic of things that are none of your business, I _do_ have a boyfriend, though that is only part of the reason I'm not interested."

"Listen Doc, if you had a boyfriend, he's probably dead."

"That may be the case with most people, but he isn't dead. Nothing can kill a Dixon except for a Dixon." She knew that he wouldn't understand what she was saying, but she didn't care. However, she did know the perfect way to get Art to leave her alone. "Besides, I'm pregnant, so I don't think you want to be interested in me."

She had never seen a more turned-off look appear on a man's face before in regards to something she had said. He quickly stuttered something about going to bed before his next watch and scampered off before she could even count to ten in her head. It looked like Daryl had given her yet another useful thing in the apocalypse apart from a few odd survival skills – at least for this particular situation. She doubted that she would have any more trouble with Art.

The following morning, Etta and Ben were awake for a while before the other three men. Ben was lost in thought before he laughed and snorted. "Did you take care of Art last night?"

She nodded in satisfaction. "I doubt he'll express any more interest."

"Good for you. You shouldn't have to put up with that shit on top of everything else." He shook his head with disbelief. "The world has just ended and all he can think about is getting laid."

"Luckily, I think his only intention was to force his company on me and not something more unpleasant."

"Whatever. If any of those guys even look at you funny I'll take care of them."

She laughed. Ben really was a good friend. "Thanks, Ben, but I think I can take care of it myself."

* * *

 **18 Months Before the Apocalypse**

"What's wrong?" Daryl had been on-edge all night and she would typically assume it was because she was leaving, but tonight something was different. "I know this isn't because I'm going to Nigeria tomorrow."

He looked up at her from the bed they were sharing, trying to decide whether or not it was best to tell her. "Merle gets out of the clink in a few days an' he still don't know nothin' bout us."

Etta felt an involuntary shiver run through her body. Merle had gone to prison only weeks after her arrival in town. (What he had been charged with was a mystery to her, though she assumed it was for drugs or a bar fight or something along those lines.) "Maybe it's a good thing I'll be out of town," she said nervously.

"Yer probably right considerin' Merle still don't like ya. I ain't plannin' on tellin' him anythin' but he's gonna find out one way or another an' when that happens you best not be anywhere near him. As it is, I ain't lookin' forward to when he catches on; my face ain't gonna look too good afterwards."

"I'm sorry you're going to get so much trouble over this. You know you can stay here, right?"

"Don't be sorry fer nothin'," he told her. "I knew Merle'd be pissed from day one; I was jus' happy I wouldn't have ta tell him fer six months."

She kissed his bare shoulder, wishing she could tell him it would be alright but knowing that they were both in for a shit storm once Merle found out. "I'll be back next Tuesday, so just hold out until then. I don't care if Merle does something ten times worse than keying my car to me: I'll be here for you."

"Don't see why yer so willin' ta put up with Merle's shit. If I was you, I'd be tellin' my redneck boyfriend ta hit the road seein' as Merle's crazy as hell."

"I'm willing to put up with his shit because I love you."

"So ya been sayin'."

* * *

Daryl had just finished signing all the paperwork necessary to get his brother out of that place and the two of them were climbing into the pickup. "Been a while, baby brother," Merle grumbled. "Can't believe I had ta spend another six months in that place."

"Yeah…" Daryl knew Merle still didn't know a thing but he felt as if his relationship with Etta was written all over his forehead. "Ain't much that's changed since ya left, though."

"Do ya think I still got my job at the garage?"

"Rob hasn't said nothin' 'bout it, but he hired ya last time, didn't he?"

"I s'pose. Is tha' new bitch still there? The one who had the hippie car we keyed."

"Yeah. She ain't in town right now, though. Went ta Nigeria."

"Nigeria? As in Africa?"

"Yep. She's some sort of disease doctor an' apparently there's somethin' goin' on with malaria there."

"Well I'll be damned. She wadn't kiddin' 'bout tha' cholera, then." Merle was secretly a little impressed: he liked a woman who could back up the threats she made.

"Nope. She's supposed ta have some sorta fancy lab in her house." Daryl hadn't meant to show he knew so much about Etta so he quickly tried to change the subject. "Should I swing by the garage 'fore we go home?"

Merle nodded and within minutes of walking into the garage he had his old job back, ready to go home. "Let's get some beer, first. I wadn't able ta get much in the joint."

While Merle perused the beer at the convenience store, Daryl decided that he may as well take advantage of Etta being gone and pick up a pack of cigarettes; what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. However, as they approached the counter he internally kicked himself. That redhead Etta liked was working the register and she had a tendency to ask the two of them about their relationship all the time, since she had been the one to shove Daryl and Etta together in the first place.

"Hey, Daryl, Merle," she said, perky as ever. "Glad yer back, Merle." (Kristen was one of the few people in town who didn't hate Merle. In fact, some days, Daryl thought she had a higher tolerance for Merle than he did.)

Merle nodded, polite enough. "Hey, Sugar."

"How ya holdin' up without Etta, Daryl? Gotta be rough with her gone half the time," Kristen sighed. But of course, she couldn't stop there. "Idn't she Nigeria right now?"

"Yeah," he grumbled, seeing the look of rage beginning to spread on Merle's face. He dropped the bills on the counter and practically sprinted back to the pickup, anticipating Merle's blowup.

"What the fuck was that?" Merle yelled. "You fuckin' that doctor bitch or somethin'?"

"That's what the lady said." Daryl was trying to keep his cool in a futile attempt to prevent Merle from completely losing it.

"An' why the hell didn't ya tell me that you'd become the fuck-buddy fer some college cunt? What the fuck, Daryl! That bitch don't give a damn 'bout you."

"I didn't tell ya 'cause I knew ya'd be an asshole. Ain't no reason I can't be with Etta." Daryl had never made a habit of defying his brother but he figured there's a first time for everything and if he was picking his battles, Etta was a battle he intended to win. "An' she ain't a cunt." He _really_ didn't like Merle calling her that.

"No wonder ya knew so much 'bout fuckin' Nigeria. I hope she gets back into town soon 'cause I'll show that bitch what hell is."

"You ain't gonna do a goddamn thing ta Etta. If ya even try ta pull somethin' I'll rip yer goddamn teeth out, Merle."

"An' now yer defendin' her like you's tryin' ta be some kinda prince charmin'. Yer makin' me sick with that cheesy-ass shit. If ya like that coos so much, I'll tell ya what: it's either me or her. Ya can get all yer shit an' walk ta her place. You'll see then that she don't give a shit."

Daryl was trying to tell if Merle was serious. He knew Merle would kick him out but the real question was whether or not he'd be kicked out permanently. Merle might calm down and realize how stupid he was being. Either way Daryl figured he'd better pick Etta; she'd done nothing wrong. "Guess I'll be packing my shit, then."

Walking with his bag to Etta's house was a pain in the ass and took the rest of the damn day but Daryl was not going to back down from Merle. Thankfully, he didn't actually have that much to carry because the majority of his belongings were at Etta's house anyway. He dropped the bag in her small loft before showering, hoping maybe he could shower the whole damn day away.

He pulled a beer out of the fridge and walked out to the edge of the woods by her house, smoking as he went. Hell, after his day, he needed a beer and a cigarette. What he hadn't expected that night was for Etta's shitty Subaru to pull up the drive.

She stepped out, duffel bag in hand and looked him up and down, noticing the cigarette. Shit. He was about to put it out when she said "Go ahead and finish it. You look like hell." Well that was unexpected. "I'll be inside when you're done."

Daryl figured it would have been too much to hope he could actually smoke inside the house but he was grateful she hadn't jumped down his throat about it. Stepping inside, he heard her unpacking up in the loft. "I'm guessing it didn't go well?"

"He kicked me out," Daryl told her as he ascended the stairs.

She gave him an almost heartbroken look. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"If Merle don't calm the fuck down then it's his own damn fault. 'Sides, I spend pretty much every night here anyways, at least when yer in town."

"You're right," she said, as if this fact had only just occurred to her. "Why don't you just move in permanently? Make yourself useful by having food on the table when I get home?" she teased.

"Move in?" Daryl had never actually lived with a woman before – the concept entirely foreign.

"Yeah, why not? So long as you promise not to leave severed deer heads in the fridge I don't see any reason you shouldn't. All our camping gear will be in one place, you won't have to go back and forth between here and your place and besides, my place smells better."

That much was true. Daryl didn't know what kind of witchcraft Etta used to keep every room in her house smelling nice but it was a pleasant contrast to the shithole he used to share with Merle. Sleeping next to Etta every night when she was in town appealed to him, too. "That ain't such a bad idea," he mused. "'Cept now Merle'll be even more pissed. But as far as I figure he can get the fuck over it."

"Perfect," she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "Now unpack every single thing out of that bag and find a place for it. Same rules apply: your shit can go everywhere except in my office-lab."

* * *

Etta was browsing the grocery aisles, desperately trying to find something both she and Daryl would eat; they had very different diets so cooking for them both could be quite a difficult task. Suddenly, someone grabbed her shoulders and whirled her around to face them. Merle.

"What the fuck have ya done to ma brother, bitch?"

"Nothing," she replied coolly. "Unless you count him moving in with me."

"He ain't never been like this. He didn't even blink when I told him ta pick between you an' me."

Etta didn't know whether to feel touched or sad that Daryl had chosen her so easily. "There's no reason he should have to choose. If you're under the impression I don't want you two spending time together then you're mistaken. I have no intentions of coming between you."

"Well ya done that already! Now he's fuckin' _livin'_ with ya! I can't believe my brother's a fuck-buddy ta some college cunt."

"Well you better damn well believe it. I love Daryl and I'm not going away anytime soon so the ball's in your court. I really hope you start talking to him again."

"Wait jus' a goddamn second! Did you jus' say ya _love_ my brother?"

"Yes," she replied confidently. "We've been together almost six months, Merle, and I love him."

"Ain't nobody ever loved ma brother but me!"

"I know that it has just been you two for a long time," she said softly. "But I am begging you not to make this difficult for him; I hate seeing him hurt over the fact that you don't want us together."

He regarded her warily, trying to decipher whether or not she was telling the truth. "Yer tryin' ta tell me that yer in love with a white-trash, redneck hick who hunts squirrels?"

"I don't consider either of you to be trash but yes. I'll admit that I'm not a big fan of some of Daryl's habits: I hate it when he smokes and I don't like seeing him walking around with dead animals over his shoulder but that doesn't change the simple fact that I love him and I don't want to live without him."

Merle didn't appear to know what to make of her confession and his face, for the first time since Etta had met him, softened just a little. "Do ya think Daryl's happy?" he asked earnestly.

Etta couldn't help but be moved by the fact that Merle wanted his brother to be happy. She may not have been Merle's biggest fan but at that moment she promised herself that she would try to like him, if for no other reason than for Daryl. "I think so. At least, he hasn't indicated otherwise. And I can tell you with certainty that he makes me _very_ happy."

"Then I guess we got nothin' more to talk 'bout," he sighed bitterly. She got the feeling Merle didn't like the idea of having to share Daryl with someone.

The dejected look on his face almost reminded her of Daryl and she decided that she was probably going to have to be the first one to offer a white flag. "Do you want to come over? I have some damn good beer."

He appeared completely dumbfounded that she would make the offer. "Is a bitch-ass doctor actually invitin' me ta her house?"

"Yes, this bitch-ass doctor is inviting you to her house."

"I guess I don't got nothin' better ta do tonight."

"Good."

She paid for her groceries and Merle followed her outside, noticing her car. "Ya never tried ta fix yer car?"

"I didn't think it was worth the trouble."

Etta had never seen a more shocked look appear on Daryl's face than the one that appeared when Merle walked through the door. "The cunt invited me over," he said irritably before sitting down at her kitchen table. "Now where's that beer you was talkin' bout, bitch?"

She tossed him a bottle as she continued to put away her groceries. Daryl gave her a questioning look but she only smiled in return. She could take whatever Merle threw at her as long as he stayed in Daryl's life.

 **A/N: An extra long chapter as thanks for waiting. I should have warned you all that I have a full time job this summer. After August first, though, I am completely free so updates will come much faster then. Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

Two weeks had passed since everything had gone to hell and Dale awoke early to take over watch from whoever had taken the final watch the previous night. He climbed to the top of the Winnebago only to come face-to-face with a morose Daryl Dixon who silently rose from the chair and handed Dale the binoculars. Dale didn't care for the Dixons – Merle especially seemed like a nasty piece of work – but he couldn't shake the memory of Daryl beating a walker and screaming "shouldn't have let her go". The younger man was hurting and Dale could see that, which left him feeling as if he should do something. "If she left, then she may not be dead, son," he said, before Daryl had a chance to climb down the ladder.

"It ain't none of yer business, old man. 'Sides, you don't know nothin' 'bout what happened."

Dale had been unsurprised by the angry response because that seemed to be the typical response from the Dixon brothers. What _had_ surprised him was the flash of intense pain he had seen in Daryl's eyes. "Well, how do you know she isn't alive?" he asked, before Daryl could get a chance to leave.

"How do I know?" he shouted. "I know 'cause I saw what they did ta Atlanta! Nothin' in them streets could have survived."

"She may not have been in the streets," Dale reminded him, trying his best to be reassuring. "Glenn went to the city very briefly and said that the place is crawling with walkers. If all of those walkers weren't burnt up in the streets, then she could have survived."

"An' what good does that do me, old man? She still ain't here. Even if she got away from Atlanta, she could still be dead – bitten or eaten by those bastards. Even if she's alive, I ain't never gonna see her again."

"You don't know that."

"Yeah I do 'cause that's the way the world works," Daryl insisted. "Whenever somethin' good comes yer way, it's gotta be snatched away from ya. All good things gotta end."With that he climbed down from the Winnebago and left Dale feeling even worse for the young man than before. His complete lack of hope left Dale feeling useless.

Later that day, Daryl announced that he was going on another hunt and promised that this time he wouldn't come back until he had caught a deer and drug it back to camp. Dale watched as the younger man entered the woods, clearly still steaming from his conversation with him that morning. Shane looked up at Dale. "Sometimes I wonder if those brothers are even worth it, Dale. They may hunt and know how to work guns, but they are so cantankerous that they're beginnin' to scare people."

Dale sighed. "Well, I can't speak for Merle but I hope that you have some patience with Daryl. He's grieving just the same as the rest of us."

Shane gave Dale a bewildered look, as if he couldn't imagine Daryl Dixon caring for another human being but shrugged it off as Glenn approached the Winnebago. "Hey Glenn, how did yer last trip to Atlanta go?"

Glenn stared nervously at the other man. "It went fine. Like I said last time, I checked Atlanta out and it's completely overrun. No way can we all go back."

"What if you just went back? I was thinkin' that there's some stuff we need and the only way we're gonna get it is if someone makes a run into the city. If you didn't have any problems getting in and out last time, I was wonderin' if ya might do it again."

At first Glenn didn't look as if he would do it, but then reluctantly replied "Sure. By myself again?" He hoped that was the case.

Shane nodded. "You could head out tomorrow morning. We just got a real short list fer now. Ya can make a run to a Walgreens and pick the stuff up and then come right back."

Glenn nodded. "That doesn't sound too bad. I can do that."

"Thank you, Glenn. I realize this ain't easy and it's a lot to ask but we sure do appreciate it."

* * *

That same morning, Etta was sent by Art on an important mission. Although she and the pilot had not had the smoothest start with one another, they had both come to have a respect for the other. Art was actually a decent leader, keeping the safety of the group his top priority. (It also didn't hurt that he had never tried to force a conversation with Etta again.) He respected Etta due to the fact that she had become a very valuable member of the group. Thanks to her, they could live off many of the wild plants in the area.

This morning, Art was sending her for more. "Etta, I think it's about time for another trip." He gently slipped a handgun into her palm, hoping that she wouldn't need it.

"Sure thing," she replied happily.

Grabbing a small canvas bag that had once been used for groceries she headed further into the woods in search for something edible. Things hadn't been easy the past two weeks, but being in a group had ensured that their situation did not become dire. They had food, protection, and supported one another the best that they could. All in all, it could have been a lot worse.

She stumbled upon a patch of edible mushrooms and began placing them gently in her bag. Even this simple action brought back memories of Daryl and the camping trips that they had taken with one another. Most days, she wouldn't go without at least a few moments mourning the loss of his company – more often those moments would turn to minutes then turn to hours.

As Etta headed back to camp, she felt the hairs on her neck prickle: something was wrong. She stayed quiet, slipping between the trees in an attempt to remain out of sight. Once she got close enough she began to hear the moans and the squelching of what she assumed were the innards of her fellow 'survivors'. Peering from behind a tree, she could see a dozen or so of those things tucking into four lifeless bodies and tried not to cry out or get sick. None of the dead had noticed her yet and she intended to keep it that way.

Clutching her gun and her bag of mushrooms, she padded away from camp, knowing that she couldn't go back. Once she was out of earshot she began sprinting, though she didn't know in which direction, and didn't stop sprinting until she felt as if she may collapse. Then, she allowed a few choked cries to come from her mouth as tears streamed in her eyes. Those things had been eating her _friends_. Ben was arguably her best friend in the world. She was now left without shelter, without another human being, and without a clue as to what to do next. She breathed heavily, trying her hardest not to get sick and lose the few precious calories she had.

Atlanta. It could be her only option. She needed supplies more than anything else and unless she ran into another group of friendly survivors – very unlikely – she would need to stock up on her own. That left little choice but to enter the city. With her mind made up, she began jogging in the right direction.

As night fell, the city was within sight and Etta climbed high into one of the few trees left before she entered what would be endless concrete and danger. Even now she could see the dead stumbling around the streets searching for prey. Night was not the time to enter the city, but she would still have to be incredibly careful in the morning when she left the safety of the tree.

She didn't sleep, thinking only of the friends she had lost. But as the sun rose, the time for grief was over and the fight for survival was about to begin in earnest. She tried desperately to maintain her composure, flitting through the streets of Atlanta, but it was a struggle not to let fear get the best of her. Often, she would have to duck behind an object in order to prevent one of the dead from seeing her.

While she was hiding behind a trashcan, her eyes scanned the streets, trying to see if there was anywhere that may have what she needed. The closest thing she saw was a Walgreens – not perfect, but a good place to start.

Staying low and keeping her gun close, she slipped quietly into the store only to come face to face with something entirely unexpected: a living person. She raised her gun instinctively, thinking at first that he may be dead.

"Don't shoot! I'm alive!" he whispered desperately.

She lowered her gun slowly and looked him up and down. She and the young Asian boy in the baseball cap may have use for each other while they were here in the store. "You can't be too careful," she replied.

He nodded, pulling her from the windows and into an aisle. "There are no geeks in here so we just have to try and stay away from the windows if we can. There's nothing very useful in those aisles, anyway."

She nodded. "Thank you. Care to watch each other's backs while we're here?"

He assessed her and came to the conclusion that she probably wouldn't try to kill him. "Sure." He held out his hand. "My name's Glenn."

Shaking his hand, she said "Etta."

"You look like shit."

"You don't look so great yourself," she replied indignantly. "Besides, that's the reason I'm raiding this place."

"What's in the bag?"

"Mushrooms." She grabbed a handful, offering some to him, which he took and began eating only after he saw her pop a few in her mouth as well.

They began making their way through the aisles, and he offered to split the useful items down the middle. "Glenn, I think you probably have more people to feed than I do. It's okay for you to take more than half."

"You look like you haven't had real food in a while," he observed.

"What, mushrooms aren't real food?"

"People don't live off mushrooms," he muttered, as he grabbed a handful of nutrition bars. "How many people are in your group, anyway?"

"Well, you're looking at my group. How big is yours?"

His eyes grew wide. "We have around twenty people and you're doing this all by yourself? How?" he exclaimed.

"Up until recently, there were a few others but that's no longer the case. It's just me now which why I need these supplies. I'm going to keep looking around a little while after I leave this place to try and find a camping store to recover some of the supplies I lost along with my group." She spied the pharmacy counter in the back and asked Glenn "Is there anything your group might need back there?"

"Yeah, I think so," he replied, still scarcely believing she was alone. He handed her a list for a bunch of medications she was familiar with, one of which was a heart medication. (Meaning, there were likely older people in Glenn's group.)

She slipped behind the counter and quickly checked for any dead before weaving through the aisles of the pharmacy looking through the prescriptions that hadn't been picked up. She found the heart medication and most others that were on Glenn's list along with a few other items. Finding some birth control pills, she pocketed those in case there were women in Glenn's group. Finally, she found what she was looking for: prenatal vitamins. Grabbing as many of the bottles as she could and throwing them in her bag, she concluded her search though the pharmaceutical jungle.

She handed Glenn the bottles and a few other things that had looked useful. "I don't know if you have any women in your group who would be interested, but I grabbed some birth control."

She couldn't help but laugh at how embarrassed Glenn looked when she handed him the pills. "Uh, thanks," he stuttered.

"No problem."

"I've got everything I need, so I'll be going now. Are you okay on your own?"

She nodded. "I think I'll snoop a little longer before I sprint out of this city."

"Is the gun all you have?"

"Yeah. Why?"

He sighed, as if he felt he may regret what he did next, before handing her a pocket knife. "It's not much, but it could save you in a pinch if you'd prefer not to shoot the gun."

Now it was Etta's turn to be a little tongue-tied. Glenn didn't owe her anything yet he had been willing to give her half of the supplies they came across and give her a weapon that he could have used himself. "Thank you," she whispered. "You know you don't have to do this, right? I mean, you could be jumped on your way out of the city."

He nodded. "I just think that people should help each other out – apocalypse or no apocalypse."

"That's ridiculously kind. Again, thank you. Is 'see you around' a good phrase anymore?"

"Well, it implies that we'll both be alive to see each other again, so I suppose it's as good as any. See you around, Etta."

Once he had quietly slipped out of the door, she continued to grab a few items off the shelves that looked useful. (After all, she didn't know when she'd be able to, or even want to, make a trip to Atlanta again.)

As she was doing this, she just barely heard the door open again and she crouched behind the small aisle she had been standing behind. She double-checked her safety to be sure that it was off before peering from behind the aisle expecting to see one of the dead. What she saw instead were two men rummaging through the aisles just as she and Glenn had earlier. Somehow, she doubted that these men were quite as friendly as Glenn had been. Though she didn't have any specific reason to believe that these men had intentions any worse than Glenn's, her gut was telling her to avoid them.

Crouching low, she slowly made her way to the door and was about to make her escape when another man entered, immediately noticing her. "Well what do we have here?" He grabbed her wrist roughly, looking her up and down like a predator before wrenching the gun out of her hand. "Looks like I've found a pretty little catch, don't it?"

She could hear his companions in another part of the store. "Maybe try not to kill this one, George? I'd prefer not to give those dead sons of bitches another meal if I can avoid it."

After hearing that, Etta began to struggle violently, hitting and scratching George in an attempt to escape. The short aisle fell on them both during the struggle, immobilizing her leg, pinning his foot and sending the gun towards the door. Thankfully it had been an aisle where hair products were kept and a can of hairspray rolled over to Etta, giving her a wonderful opportunity. Grabbing the can, she sprayed it in his eyes as he lunged for her.

As he screamed in pain she was able to lift the aisle off her leg, grab her gun, and limp out of the store down the sidewalk. She didn't see any dead, but that didn't mean that there weren't any around so she tried to find a place to hide from them and from her attackers in the store.

Her hobbling didn't get her very far, though, as she soon found herself pinned against a wall by George. "That wasn't a smart move, bitch," he informed her. He took out a very sharp knife and drew a line down the side of her face which began to bleed.

As the blood dripped down her cheek and onto her clothes she pulled the pocket knife out of her pocket and thrust the knife with enough force that it was able to punch a hole between his ribs, eliciting an angry cry. Once again, her attacker released his grip and Etta tried desperately to get away.

Now she saw a car coming towards them. All she could think was that it was probably another group of men who were going to give her trouble. As it turns out, only one of her assessments was correct.

A group of men were indeed inside the car and they were armed to the teeth. A few of the larger ones stepped out and Etta prepared herself for the worst, but the two men breezed past her over to George so they could began beating the shit out of him. Even when his buddies came out of the store they were no match for the two Latinos.

Within minutes the entire scene was over, but the noise was beginning to attract the dead. One of the men, whose arms and neck were covered in tattoos approached Etta and said, "We're not going to hurt you, but we need to get out of here." He held out his hand, offering his help. Etta knew that with her hurt leg she wouldn't be able to outrun the dead, nor did she have the energy to fight them, so she took the man's hand and climbed into the car with him.

* * *

 **16 Months Before the Apocalypse**

Etta was beginning to feel as if she had caught her footing in the tiny town. She had become friends with Kristen, who worked at the convenience store, and she often talked with Lucy, who was the wife of Daryl's boss. They had all been out having beers together – apart from Lucy, who didn't drink – when they were returned to the parking lot, which held a very nasty surprise.

Etta's car had been keyed again, but this time it was not the handiwork of a pissed off Merle, but the malicious handiwork of someone who Etta didn't even know. Scratched all over the car was the phrase 'white-trash whore'. What had she done to deserve this?

Everyone in their group was silent for a few moments before Rob said "Bring your car 'round the shop in the mornin', Etta. We'll find a way ta fix this."

"It's not a big deal," Etta replied softly. She didn't have the money to get her car fixed; she was pouring anything extra into either improving her house or towards her college debts.

"Free of charge," he insisted, which left Etta feeling incredibly grateful.

Daryl had been quiet the entire way home, glaring at Etta's dashboard but became livid as they went inside. "It ain't right."

"No, but it's not as if we can do anything about it. I just don't know why anyone would care enough to scratch up my car; I don't think I've made any enemies since coming here, except maybe Merle."

"It's 'cause of me," Daryl replied darkly. "Merle an' I – especially Merle – don't have winnin' reputations 'round here. Ya probably figured it out the second ya walked inta town."

Well, he _was_ right about that; the store clerk had been very quick to inform Etta that Merle and Daryl were trouble, though he had also mentioned that Daryl wasn't going to be causing any shit storms when he was alone. "But why now?" she asked. "We've been together almost eight months now." That wasn't entirely true, though. She had been receiving strange looks – looks that definitely resembled glares – for months now but hadn't really thought anything of it. After all, she was in a backwards town in the backwoods of Georgia; Etta had assumed it was because they didn't like strangers in the town or that they, like Merle, looked at her college education with disgust.

"Might be 'cause Merle's back," he muttered. "Don't really matter why they're doin' it, does it?"

"Not really, I was just curious." She was beginning to get undressed to go to bed now, hoping that if she didn't make much of the incident, that Daryl would forget it.

"How can ya be so calm 'bout it?" he yelled. "It ain't fair that you should have ta deal with this shit 'cause of Merle an' me."

She quickly shrugged it off. "I honestly could care less about it," she told him firmly. He was beginning to get a very strange look on his face that made her nervous. "I hope you aren't suggesting that we should discontinue just because someone keyed my car."

"Discontinue," he snorted. "Only you would say 'discontinue'. But Etta, people been talkin' even more since we moved in together."

"Oh no!" she cried dramatically. "A man and a woman sleeping in the same bed and living together! We must alert the village elders of this outrage! This scandal!"

This at least got him to smile, enjoying her dramatics, but he quickly returned to his serious demeanor. "Ya say ya don't care now, but you ain't gonna be sayin' that in a few months when people get meaner. They know they can't mess with Merle, but they also know you ain't 'bout ta go puttin' people in a hospital."

"Daryl, I hope you aren't under the impression that I actually give a fuck what the people here think. I care about you, Kristen, Rob, Lucy and sometimes Merle. Apart from that, everyone else can go fuck themselves." Daryl appeared surprised that she had been so quick to come to his defense and show her commitment. "Now, let's talk about something else because I am bored talking about what other people think."

"An' what would you suggest we talk 'bout?"

"I don't know. Do you like dogs?"

* * *

The nasty looks at Etta had been increasing exponentially and people began getting even bolder in their harassment of her and Daryl, sometimes throwing insults right in front of them. (Whenever this happened, it took every ounce of strength in Etta's arms to hold Daryl back from picking a fight with someone from town.) Etta's car had also been egged since it had been fixed up by Rob.

But then, all of this came to an abrupt halt. The looks were still there but they weren't nearly as bad as they had been only weeks prior. All other behavior came to a complete halt – no one was anything but civil to her.

She was having a beer with Kristen when she expressed her confusion. "I just don't get it. One day they're all calling me a whore to my face and the next day nobody seems to have a problem with me."

"Well, I think it's 'cause of Merle," Kristen informed her.

"Merle?" she asked, incredulous. Why the hell would Merle be preventing everyone from being horrible to her? He hated her.

"Yeah. These two guys walked into the store one day an' they didn't see Merle so they started mouthin' off 'bout you. Then, outta nowhere Merle just starts wailin' on this guy. Technically, I should have stopped them but I was gettin' so pissed 'bout the way people were treatin' you that I jus' let Merle do what he wanted. After he was done, he told the guy he'd just beat the shit out of that if he ever said anythin' 'bout you again, he'd make him wish he'd never been born."

Etta couldn't believe it. _Merle_ has stood up for _her._ At first, she wasn't quite sure how she felt about it, but then she felt a little touched that he had actually bothered. Maybe she could adjust to Merle.

Later that night she picked up a six-pack of nice beer – a peace offering – and went to the apartment Daryl and Merle had been sharing up until a few months ago. Steeling herself, she knocked on the door.

She had never seen such a hilarious look of surprise on Merle before and she actually had a difficult time not laughing at the sight. "Why the fuck are you here, bitch?"

She waved the beer in front of him like a white flag. "I wanted to talk."

He eyed her warily, as if trying to determine whether or not she had some devious motive behind her visit, before taking the beer and allowing her to walk inside. She sat down on the worn out couch that she had become familiar with in the first few weeks she and Daryl had been together and waited for Merle to begin drinking.

"So what do ya want?"

"I wanted to thank you. As I understand it, you're the reason people aren't harassing me anymore." She paused for a moment before saying "You didn't have to do that."

Merle grimaced, angry that she might be catching on to the fact that he didn't hate her. "I only did it because I hated that sumbitch. Had nothin' ta do with ya."

She gave him a dubious look. "I have my facts straight, Merle."

"So what? I don't hate ya. It don't mean I like ya. Yer still a college cunt."

Etta was beginning to catch on to Merle's weird version of tough love. "Well, if it makes any difference, I'm actually beginning to like _you,_ Merle. Regardless, I still appreciate the fact that you did what you did. Thank you."

She left him with the beer, hoping that he understood how grateful she was and hoping that maybe someday she and Merle could actually get along. She was willing to give it a try.


	5. Chapter 5

"Felipe, what is this crap? I send you out on a mission for supplies and you come back with no supplies and a woman who we don't know?"

Guillermo saw that she was asleep on the bed in the small room that Felipe had taken her to. An IV was dripping into her arm while Felipe was going through her bag. "We found her fighting off these assholes and we couldn't just let them kill her. Even if they hadn't gotten her, those things would have." He glanced at the woman on the bed. "We knew she was in bad shape when we found her, but it seems like everywhere I look there's something else wrong with her: her tibia is bruised and the cut down her face needed stitches. On top of that, she had low blood sugar, was dehydrated, anemic, and hadn't slept in days. She fell asleep right away when she got into the bed." As he continued to go through the bag, he groaned internally. "It also looks like she might be pregnant."

"How the hell do you know that?" He hadn't thought that Felipe had time for an examination quite so thorough.

Felipe tossed the prenatal vitamins towards Guillermo. "G, I don't know if this lady has anywhere to go."

"Was she armed?" Guillermo asked.

"She had a pocket knife and a handgun – the gun looked like military."

Now Guillermo looked even more suspiciously at the woman. "How do you think she got a military handgun?"

Felipe shrugged. "Hell if I know, but she's not much trouble without her gun and her knife. Can't hurt to give her a place to sleep for the night," he said, none-too-subtly hinting what he wanted Guillermo to do.

Guillermo supposed it wouldn't hurt to give her a chance. He wouldn't feel right throwing a pregnant lady back onto those streets, so what was one more person in the nursing home? "I'll talk to her when she wakes up. Then we'll see if she stays."

* * *

The next morning, Etta woke up feeling better than she had in days, no longer plagued by the constant malaise she had experienced in the woods. She thought she must be in some type of hospital, judging by the room and the IV in her arm. Gently removing the needle from her hand, she slowly crawled out of bed. The windows were boarded up, but apart from that, she wouldn't have known this place had even been touched by the apocalypse. Across the hall she could see and older gentlemen being wheeled out of his room. The woman who was helping him noticed Etta was awake then called "Felipe, get Guillermo." After calling for the men, she went on her way as if nothing particularly exciting had occurred.

Moments later, two Latino men were standing in her room, ready to interrogate her. "What's your story?" the shorter one asked.

She supposed that she should be forthcoming with the people who had saved her life. "I escaped Atlanta in a helicopter with four others. We'd been camping outside the city for two weeks when our camp was attacked, leaving me as the only survivor. I didn't have any supplies so I came to the city to get some. While I was in the Walgreens, those men came in and attacked me; Felipe was one of your men that saved my life," she added, looking gratefully up at the large man.

"The gun and the knife?" he continued.

"The pocket knife was given to me by another survivor and the handgun was given to me by one of the other people who were in my group. He and two others in our group were military – that's how we got into the helicopter and escaped."

"If they were military before all this, then what were you?"

"I was a doctor – an epidemiologist. That means I was one of the idiots running around futilely trying to find a cure." It really had been such a waste.

Guillermo was feeling better keeping her around, now. A doctor could be very useful. "Felipe found those pills."

She nodded, feeling awkward. "It's exactly what it looks like."

She waited while Guillermo thought the situation over, though there wasn't much to think about. If she was alone then she wouldn't last very long out there and he wouldn't be able to live with that. Plus, they needed doctors to help with the old ones. "You wanna stay here?" he asked.

She looked completely relieved at the suggestion. "I really would. I can be useful to you – earn my keep."

"No doubt. Felipe will help you settle in and find some new clothes."

The bigger man looked down at her. "So what's your name?"

"Etta Weaver."

"What the hell kind of name is 'Etta'?"

"It's short for Henrietta because my parents clearly wanted me to get beat up at school." Etta had always detested her full name.

He appeared to agree with her as he led her to a room where she could pick out some clean, decent clothes to wear. "We have water so you can shower and you'll be safe here. All you gotta do is help us take care of the old ones."

"Well, geriatrics weren't my specialty, but I can do that."

"Yeah and we can help with all the baby stuff. We have a handful of medical staff here. No one's an OBGYN but it's better than nothing. Besides, we're sort of becoming like a family now – looking out for each other."

"Definitely better than nothing; I can't even begin to tell you how grateful I am."

"We have a real nice older nurse named Sybil who can check you out and see if everything looks alright. How far along do you think you are?"

It seemed strange having this conversation with Felipe but Etta had to continue reminding herself that he was a nurse. "I think I'm about eight weeks."

"Okay, so we have a while to get ready for this, then." He seemed relieved that he wouldn't have to be searching stores for diapers anytime soon.

* * *

Glenn returned to camp with the supplies and was greeted eagerly by Shane. "So, what'd ya get?"

"A bunch of stuff," Glenn replied. He then nervously added, "I met a girl who helped me find some of the prescriptions. She got birth control pills, too, if anyone's interested." At this, Glenn turned a bright pink.

"A girl? What do you mean a girl?"

"Well, she was more like a woman but we ran into each other in Walgreens and after we both realized the other wasn't dead we decided to help each other out, watch each other's backs. She was nice and actually, if I run into her again, I was thinking of asking her to join us. She was completely alone because she'd lost her group." Glenn had always felt uncomfortable asking Shane for anything – something this big would even be especially touchy.

Shane rubbed the back of his head like he always did when he was agitated. "I don't know. You can't just trust people anymore."

"She could have shot me when she got into the store or she could have fought me for the supplies but she didn't. In fact, she insisted that I take more than half of the stuff that we found because I wasn't alone like she was."

Shane sighed, seeing that Glenn truly did have confidence in her. "I'll tell you what, _if_ you see her again you can bring her back and I'll check her out. All I can say is that I better come to the conclusion she's trustworthy because otherwise things could get ugly."

Glenn nodded, thinking Shane was being reasonable, before he went over to see Dale. "So you met a girl, huh?" the older man asked. "What was she like?"

"Well, she offered me some edible mushrooms which was kind of a weird thing to do, but still very nice."

"Pretty?"

"She probably was before this all happened but she looked like hell when I saw her. I don't think she had slept in a while." He began playing with his baseball cap absent-mindedly before adding, "It still doesn't feel right that I left her to fend for herself, even if I did give her my pocket knife."

Dale could see that Glenn had definitely been rattled by the encounter with this mysterious woman. After all, giving up any type of weapon to a stranger was an unusual decision to make anymore. "Does this pretty woman have a name?"

"She said her name was Etta. I hope I see her again."

"Stranger things have happened," the older man replied. He didn't want to admit it – even to himself – but he thought that maybe a nice romance would be good for the younger man. He didn't have much else to do but ponder the lives of others in the camp.

Daryl returned from his hunt a few days later and as promised, he had brought back a large deer. Dale didn't even want to think about how much effort it would have taken the redneck to haul the animal back to camp, but the others at the quarry seemed less interested in the efforts made by Daryl and more interested in the fact that they would be eating venison that night.

Dale couldn't help but steal glances at the two brothers throughout the meal. There was little to occupy his interests now that the world had ended, so Daryl's situation continued to plague his mind. Even if the younger man was ill-tempered, Dale saw no reason he should suffer the way he did.

These thoughts continued to bounce around Dale's head as he headed back to camp from the quarry later that night. (Bathing in the quarry was not exactly a fantasy, but the clean feeling afterwards was pleasant.) What he didn't expect was to be privy to a conversation between the Dixon brothers, unbeknownst to them.

Merle had, without the knowledge or consent of anyone else in the camp, made a run into Atlanta to pick up some 'supplies' which he deemed very important to the quality of life at the camp: booze. He had been drinking heavily and began to engage his younger brother in an interrogation. "I can't believe yer still hung up on that bitch. She was a stuck up, college-educated doctor who thought she was better than you. You act as if she was _in love_ with you but you was just a fuck buddy to her. A pussy she could call over when her lady parts wanted a little fun."

A very low growl began to come from Daryl. "You don't know nothin', bro."

"Oh? Tell me what I don't know Darylina! 'Cause alls I know is that she ain't blood – she ain't our kin."

The younger Dixon was becoming more and more agitated by the second, debating whether or not to tell his older brother, especially since Merle was drunk. He bit his nail and then grew the balls to tell him. "She was pregnant."

Merle choked on a mouthful of booze. "What? How the fuck did that happen? I woulda thought a lady doctor would be on the pill. I mean, who would wanna get pregnant with _yer_ kid? Hell, you hardly even count as a man. I'm surprised you wadn't shooting blanks."

"I don't know _how_ it happened, it just did. Hell, I saw her take the pill every damn night – same exact time." Except, Etta had been really busy lately. Daryl supposed it was possible she forgot once or twice.

"You let that bitch go into the middle of an epidemic, surrounded by people infected with that shit, knowin' that she was pregnant?"

"I didn't know 'til after she was gone. I found the fucking test in the trash."

"So that's why you's so cut up 'bout this. Ya wanted ta be a baby daddy."

"Woulda been cut up either way, not that you know a damn thing 'bout what it means to care 'bout someone."

"Cry me a river Darylina. Tell ya what, once ya get off the rag I might just braid yer hair." At this point Daryl decided he had had enough of Merle's shit and stormed off into the woods, only planning to come back once Merle had passed out.

Luckily for Dale, Daryl had gone in a completely different direction so he wouldn't see the older man standing not far from their tent, mouth agape. The brothers hadn't been talking loud enough for anyone else in the camp to hear them, but Dale had been just barely in earshot, the entire conversation leaving him reeling. Just when he had thought Daryl's situation could get no worse _this_ happens?

No wonder the poor man was so angry all the time. He had a girlfriend who had apparently left to go to Atlanta for some reason or another and Daryl had found out after she left that she was pregnant. Then the world ends and he's separated from her. On top of all of that – which was more than enough to push anyone off the edge – there was the way that Merle treated Daryl. Dale had never realized just how verbally abusive the older Dixon was to his brother. Retreating to the Winnebago, all he could do was hope that Daryl somehow found this woman, for the sake of the younger man's sanity.

* * *

"All done," Sybil announced, removing the gloves that she had worn during the examination.

"How bad are things?" Etta asked, anticipating the worst as she played with her necklace.

"It's very difficult to say at this point. We don't have a working ultrasound machine so I'm going to have to do this the old-fashioned way. All I can say is that I didn't find any abnormalities, though you could definitely stand to put on a little more weight."

"I just spent the past two weeks roughing it in the woods eating nothing but wild berries and mushrooms. I'm anemic, I need to gain weight, and I've been under considerably more stress than I should be. I'm not sure if I would call that fine."

Sybil nodded, understanding Etta's concerns. "Well, you're fixing all of that now. You're on all sorts of supplements, you're eating real food and you don't have to feel stressed anymore – we're all protected by those boys."

Etta nodded. "I guess I'll have you check me out every month or so? Honestly, I just wish I could do it myself so I wouldn't have to trouble you."

"I think this is what people mean when they say that doctors make the worst patients," Sybil replied with a smile. "Every month sounds just fine and you were right: it looks like you're currently at eight weeks." She paused, deciding whether or not to bring up a touchy subject. "I'm assuming the father was in that group of yours?" The older woman hoped not; she couldn't imagine how horrible it would be to see the father of your child eaten alive.

Etta shook her head, happy that she could. "No. He and I were separated during the outbreak so I don't know where he is right now. He's a pretty tough bastard so I'm assuming he's alive – he's so good at that survival stuff. It doesn't really matter, though, because I probably won't see him again."

The older nurse sighed. "I wish I could tell you that you were wrong and everything would be fine, but given the state of the world right now, I don't think I would even believe myself. Did he know?"

Etta shook her head, trying not to cry. "I hadn't known long and besides, I was terrified to tell him. I didn't have a clue how he would react or what we would do or how we could make it work. Now it seems stupid to think I was that terrified _before_ the world ended." The older woman was nice to confide in, so Etta decided to continue. "I have this recurring dream that we'll see each other in about ten years and then – assuming that this baby lives – I'll have to tell him that it's his from before the apocalypse. He probably wouldn't take it well, whether he wanted kids or not."

Sybil appeared lost in thought for a moment before saying "How long do you think it will be before this nightmare is over? Before humanity can pull itself together? Do you think those things will last ten years?"

"I may have been doing research when this whole thing started, but I can't pretend to know much more than the average person. I would say that those things can't last ten years because their flesh should rot off before then, but a month ago I also would have said that once someone was dead, they didn't come back and start eating people. As far as humanity pulling itself together, I'm a lot more cynical. A lot of very horrible people are going to have an advantage now because they're ruthless and willing to hurt people. If a person shows kindness to another person, it could mean their own death."

"I'm not sure if I'm ready for a world like that."

"I don't think any decent human being is, but we better prepare ourselves for it."

 **6 Months Before the Apocalypse**

"It's s'posed ta be pretty warm this weekend. Wanna go campin'?"

Etta's brown eyes met Daryl's blue and he saw instantly what her answer would be. "Camping sounds like a perfect way to spend the weekend. Ben let me know that there wouldn't be any projects coming my way until Monday so I am completely at your disposal."

He nodded awkwardly. "I gotta good spot if ya want ta look at it."

"Surprise me," she said with a reassuring smile.

After they had arrived at their destination and pitched their tent, Daryl began tugging at his sleeves – not entirely surprising given the fact that he didn't often wear sleeved shirts – shuffling his feet until he finally pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Happy birthday."

Etta looked over her present. It was a necklace with something that Daryl had carved on it. His handiwork actually wasn't half bad because he had managed to put some detail on the little charm. She felt horrible but she had to ask, "What kind of animal is it?"

"It's a, uh, chupracabra," he mumbled.

"Like the one in your story?" she asked, sounding perfectly serious. He nodded, eliciting a huge smile on her face. "I love it," she insisted before kissing him gently on the cheek.

"It ain't nothin' fancy or anythin'…"

"It's perfect." She immediately put the necklace around her neck. "I won't go anywhere without it," she promised earnestly. "Thank you."

He still appeared embarrassed by it, but looked relieved that she did actually appear to like it. She laced her hand in his and they walked the woods together, a favorite activity. "Ya should get some shootin' practice in," he told her. "While we're out here." She pulled a face, causing him to laugh. "I know ya don't like it, but shootin' is useful ta be able ta do. I feel better knowin' you's a decent shot."

"It doesn't do me much good since I refuse to carry."

He shrugged. "Don't much matter. I still want ya ta be a decent shot."

He lined the beer cans up, the usual routine for her shooting lessons, though the lessons were few and far between. After she had successfully shot all the cans with only one try each, Daryl smirked. "Looks like ma work is done. You ain't half bad."

"I learned from the best," she said, returning his smirk. "You know, I was serious last week when I said we should get a dog."

"Ya really want a dog?"

"Yes," she replied with certainty. "I want a big dog that will slobber all over, keep us up at night because it wants to share the bed and be a pain in the ass to walk. Those are the best kind."

He shook his head as he laughed, knowing that she was completely serious. "I dunno 'bout _right_ now but if ya want a dog, we could look 'round. Havin' one actually sounds nice."

This earned him another peck on the cheek. "Perfect. You really know how to make a girl happy." He turned a little pink at this comment but she meant it.


	6. Chapter 6

Weeks Later

The camp was more or less empty that day, except for one or two others. Glenn was on a raid, the women were washing clothes, and Shane and a few other men were looking for berries and mushrooms in the forest. Daryl sat alone, skinning his catches from the previous day which mostly consisted of squirrel. As he was doing so, a very unwelcome person sat down next to him: Merle.

"Daryl." If Merle wanted Daryl's attention, he certainly wasn't going to be getting it willingly. "Daryl!" he growled, grabbing his brother's shoulders and turning him to face him.

"What do ya want? I ain't in the mood, Merle."

He returned to skinning his squirrels and didn't see that Merle actually had something to say – something that wouldn't be easy for him to say. "I'm sorry 'bout Etta." Merle knew that he should have said that a long time ago, but he had been too goddamn stubborn.

Daryl whirled to face his brother, expecting a mocking look only to see a look of complete seriousness on Merle's face. He had to be hearing things because Merle had never once called Etta by her real name. She had always considered herself lucky if Merle called her girlie instead of bitch or cunt. "What do ya mean?" he asked guardedly.

"What I _mean_ , little brother, is that this is a pretty damn shitty situation and I'm sorry 'bout that. I didn't hate her, even if it seemed like it."

Daryl was incredulous. He loved his brother, but they had never been the types to have conversations like this, especially Merle. As far as Merle's standards were concerned, he may as well have said he loved both Daryl and Etta and wished she was there. All Daryl could do was nod in response to acknowledge what Merle had said.

"Now stop being such a pansy bitch and take that skin off like a man. Ya can't be afraid ta get yer hands dirty if yer skinnin' somethin'." He stood up and stretched. "Jus' so ya know, that cop's puttin' together some group ta go on into the city in a couple days and I'm on tha' list. I'll be expectin' some venison when I get back."

* * *

Daryl was having difficulty concentrating on his hunt. His mind constantly wandered to memories of Etta. One in particular involving Merle was bouncing around more than others.

" _Sorry 'bout Merle. I know he's an asshole but ya just gotta ignore him."_

 _Her warm brown eyes didn't harden in anger at the mention of Merle and in fact got an almost fond look in them. "Merle_ is _an asshole, but he's harmless."_

" _We can't be talking 'bout the same Merle. He punched out half a man's teeth once, so how the hell do ya mean he's harmless?"_

 _Her face scrunched. "He means no harm to me is what I was trying to say. He cares about you and he knows that you care about me so by association, I'm assuming he must at least sort of like me. Besides, I've heard stories from Kirsten who works at the store. You're aware some people in town do not approve of the fact that we're together and one such person was saying unpleasant things in the store. I believe the term used was 'white-trash whore' or something along those lines. Anyway, he didn't know that Merle was in the store. Merle beat the shit out of him and told him if he ever said anything else about me again that Merle would find him and make him wish he had never been born."_

" _Merle coulda just beat the shit out of the guy 'cause he felt like it."_

" _Kirsten didn't seem to think so. Anyway, since hearing that, I have decided that I will never speak a word against Merle Dixon again. The conclusion I have reached is that he's just a lot of talk whenever he says how much he hates me."_

" _Whatever. I still don't like the way he talks to you and he's still an asshole."_

 _She smiled and what Daryl heard next was entirely unexpected. "That may be so, but he still isn't a bad man."_

 _Daryl had never met a woman who could tolerate Merle's personality and the insults that he hurled at everyone. Now he was with a woman who could not only tolerate Merle, but didn't want to hear a word against him. "Don't tell me that you actually_ like _Merle?"_

 _She wrapped her warm arms around Daryl and her delicate fingers began playing with his hair. "He's grown on me. And besides, he's your brother so I suppose I was going to have to learn to like him, one way or another."_

" _So does that mean ya plan ta stick around?" Daryl had always been a little baffled that she was even remotely interested in him – after all, she was a fancy doctor and he was a southern redneck. He was having a little difficulty wrapping his head around the possibility that she may plan on being around for a while._

" _You can count on it, Daryl Dixon. After all, I love you don't I?" she asked with a wink._

" _That's what you've said."_

" _And you've said it back, haven't you? Or didn't you mean it?" she teased._

"' _Course I meant it."_

" _Well, then the way I see it, you are going to have to put up with me for a long time." She seemed so happy at the prospect of being with Daryl for a long time that his chest began to ache. Could she possibly mean it?_

" _I hope so." His reply earned him an enormous smile and a kiss so he supposed maybe it_ was _possible that she wanted_ him _, of all people._

A good long time had ended up being only two years together which left Daryl feeling robbed.

* * *

Back in Atlanta, Etta was listening to Felipe go on about what was apparently a shitload of guns just sitting on the street. "It's just sitting there! Waiting to be taken! There were too many dead ones in the area to get them today – some pendejo must have been shooting off guns – but we're going back tomorrow to pick the bag up."

"A pendejo indeed," Etta mused. "They must have been pretty damn desperate to use a gun. But don't forget that we're going to need a pharmacy run before too long. Mr. Rivera needs his heart medication," she reminded him.

"You know I'm not about to forget about Mr. Rivera, Etta."

Etta had been surprised at how easily she had been accepted into the community at the nursing home. She and Felipe had become close friends almost right away, bonding on the runs they had made together. He had been pleasantly surprised to learn that Etta was useful in other areas apart from medicine. (Again, she had Daryl to thank for that.)

"You wanna come on this run, Etta?"

"Just for guns? No, I think I'll play chess with Mr. Rivera – he's been begging me for the past two days and you know that I can never say no to him. Besides, if it's just the guns then they should be pretty easy to grab."

"Alright, but you're more fun to have on runs."

"If you're referring to the fact that I scream 'holy Jesus fuck' every time one of those things looks dead but it isn't, then you're not going to have an easy job convincing me to come."

He laughed, remembering a couple of the funnier incidents, before noticing a piece of paper that she had with her that was covered in tick-marks. "What's that?"

She looked down at the paper and the once-happy mood quickly vanished. "It's been sixty-three days since I've seen him. I've been counting."

His face fell, seeing how much she clearly missed Daryl. "You know, if we get those vans ready and leave the city, we can look for him."

She smiled at the small comfort he offered her. "He's probably not going to be an easy man to find." She decided to quickly change the subject before it became any harder for her to keep her composure. "So are you taking Miguel with you for this run?" she asked.

"Yeah. I hope the kid doesn't screw up too bad on his first run – he's a little jumpy."

"Well I've never really talked to him so I wouldn't know. But, so long as he has you to keep an eye on him, I'm sure he'll be fine."

"My lady!" he replied dramatically. "You are too kind!"

* * *

Playing chess with Mr. Rivera had always been an interesting experience for Etta. He apparently had once been a chess master competing across the United States but now – though he still enjoyed chess just as much – he experienced some difficulty remembering quite how it's played. He would move many of the pieces in ways they weren't allowed to be moved and would occasionally forget the objective of the game was to capture the king and not a rook. This game was no exception.

"Checkmate!" he cried happily as his knight stood parallel to Etta's queen.

"It looks like you've beat me again," she sighed. "But I suppose that I can't expect anything else when I play against a chess master."

"Don't you worry, young lady, I guarantee that I will train you to be a chess champion." He really was a sweet man.

Etta was preparing the chess board for another game when one of the Vatos ran up to her. "Etta, you better get over here, quick. Felipe's been shot in the ass!"

She rushed to the entrance expecting to have to remove bullet fragments from Felipe, only to see that he had an arrow sticking out of his ass. "What the hell, Felipe?"

"I'll explain it once this thing is out of me," he hissed in pain.

She led him to the room where she kept all of her medical supplies and set to work removing the arrow. "You know you like this," he joked, trying to distract himself from the pain.

Upon hearing that, Etta shoved the tip of the arrow through him and pulled the arrow through, causing him to cry out in pain. "Why didn't you just pull the damn arrow out?"

"You're supposed to push it through," she replied lightly as she set to work trying to prevent infection. "To be quite honest, this was a lot easier than removing bullet fragments would have been."

"Bullet fragments would have been less painful," he gasped.

She numbed the area and began slowly stitching him up. "That's what you think. Bullets can be just as painful as arrows and cause just as much damage. You're lucky the tip of the arrow was pretty small and he wasn't trying to kill you."

"How do you know he wasn't trying to kill me?" he demanded.

"Felipe, if he was trying to kill you, I think he would have aimed a little higher than your ass."

Once she had finished with Felipe she looked the arrow over. Daryl used to make ones just like it. "It's kind of strange that he was using arrows," she remarked. "Anyway, what did you do to deserve an arrow in the ass?"

"Why do you just assume I deserved it?" he asked indignantly.

"Knowing you, Felipe, they probably had a good reason," she joked. "I'm guessing you didn't get the guns?"

"No. These culeros grabbed the guns before we had a chance and we went after them. We jumped them but they ended up with the bag, so we took one of their men and they have Miguel."

Etta stared at him, trying to see if he was serious. "You _jumped_ them? That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard, Felipe. I guess you did deserve an arrow in your ass! Plus you kidnapped one of them? I wouldn't be surprised if they came back with guns blazing in order to get him back."

Felipe rubbed the back of his neck, seeing Etta's point. He was about to tell her more about the encounter when another of the Vatos called him. "Felipe, the culeros are here with guns!"

Etta felt her heart rate go up. This could be it; the end. Why did the Vatos have to be so stupid, sometimes? Before too long, Felipe came back to her to explain the situation. "They wanted to make a trade – Miguel for their guy."

"That sounds fair," she said hopefully. "Did you make the trade?"

Felipe shook his head. "G said that since I got shot in the ass and they had threatened Miguel, they would need to give us Miguel _and_ the guns before we'd give them their man."

Etta smacked him hard on the arm – tempted to kick him where she had just stitched him up in order to inflict more pain. "Do you want to fight those men?" she asked scathingly. "They could have others and besides, they're the ones with the damn guns!" She could not believe their stupidity. "How many were there?" she asked.

"Two guys met with us face-to-face and they had one more, a sniper, with his gun trained on us. We shouldn't negotiate with them, Etta. The redneck who shot me threatened to cut Miguel's feet off!"

"Miguel can be mouthy," she reminded him. She was about to yell at him again when she began to put things together. A redneck with arrows…it couldn't be. "Felipe," she asked slowly. "What did the men look like? The ones who you talked to face-to-face."

"One of them was in a sheriff's outfit – looked pretty stupid to me. The other one was the redneck with the crossbow shouting about his brother, thinking we had him. Can't remember the brother's name but it was the most hick-name I've ever heard."

A redneck with a crossbow – who else could it be? "Was his brother's name Merle?" she asked quietly, scarcely believing what she was hearing.

"How the hell did you know that?" he asked. "Do you know those culeros?"

"Not the cop, but I do know the guy who shot you. He's the man I was separated from during the outbreak, I think. Did he look okay?" She could feel tears welling in her eyes at the thought of Daryl alive and the possibility of seeing him again.

"He looked fine – better than you, actually. At least he doesn't have any scars on his face from fighting off putos. But look, Etta, you can't know it's him just because this guy was a redneck with a crossbow."

"Whose brother's name is Merle," she reminded him. "Who could it be but Daryl? You can't hurt them, Felipe."

He saw the emotions running through her, the tears in her eyes and her desperation. If this really was the man she was looking for, they had to give her a chance to see him. "Alright, we'll talk to G. I think he's in the cafeteria."

They headed to the cafeteria, Etta practically forcing them to run and when they got there, they found G talking to an Asian guy who Etta was also familiar with. "Glenn?"

He turned and saw her, eyes wide with disbelief. "Etta? I thought you didn't have a group." He noticed the scar on her face. "Oh my god, what happened?"

She rushed over to him, hardly believing that she was seeing him again; she hadn't even dared to hope that he was still alive. "I didn't have a group until these guys found me. I was being attacked and they gave me a place to stay. I'm just glad you're alive," she said earnestly.

"Me too, but what is going on here?"

"They're idiots," she replied before turning to G. "Glenn is a good person," she insisted. "He's the one who gave me the knife and watched my back while we were in that Walgreens."

"Why should I care?" he asked. "We need those guns, Etta. Otherwise we may not be able to keep this place safe."

Etta could not believe how stubborn he was being. This was exactly the type of attitude that got Felipe shot in the ass! "Fine," she said. "But at least try to negotiate because I don't want any of those men shot." She turned to Glenn. "Do you have a man named Daryl Dixon in your group whose brother's name is Merle?"

Glenn didn't see why she was so intensely curious about Daryl, or even how she could know him. "Yeah. Why?"

"Daryl Dixon?" Guillermo scoffed. "Isn't that the culero who knocked you up?"

"Yes! You can't let anything happen to him."

"He was going to cut off Miguel's feet."

She rolled her eyes. "No he wasn't. Daryl was probably trying to make shit up to scare Miguel; he and Merle both had a habit of doing that. I know Daryl and he wouldn't cut off the feet of some kid. Please, G, I need to see him."

Guillermo sighed, not happy that he may have to give up the guns, but Etta had just vouched for two of the four men in the group and that had to count for something. Maybe they would give them some guns if he took them to Etta? Besides, if this really was the guy who Etta so clearly loved, he couldn't just enter a shooting match with him. (Especially considering he would lose a lot of him own men in the process.) "They're going to be back before too long," he informed Etta. "Whether they give us the guns or not, I'll let you see the culero."

"Thank you," she cried, throwing her arms around him.

"Those bastards are just lucky that you're here. Otherwise, this could have turned into a shootout." He glanced at Glenn. "You two can catch up while we wait."

She pulled Glenn over to one of the tables. "Please tell me Daryl's okay."

He nodded. "Yeah. Well, sort of. We were on a run with Merle and things went south. He was high and had to be chained to a rooftop because he was out of control. The key got dropped and we had to leave him there. Today we had to tell Daryl and obviously he…didn't take it well. So we came back for Merle and when we got there, he wasn't on the rooftop."

"He escaped?" she asked, incredulous. Though, she supposed she shouldn't have been surprised – after all, it was Merle Dixon.

"He, uh, had to cut off his hand to get off the roof. Then he cauterized it while he was killing walkers and eventually escaped the building. We still don't know where he is and he's lost a lot of blood."

Etta covered her mouth. Merle could be dead. "I can't really imagine Merle dead," she choked. "And Daryl…he must be devastated."

"So you knew them before the outbreak? And you actually liked Merle?" Glenn couldn't really wrap his head around the idea that anyone apart from Daryl would mourn the other Dixon.

She laughed a little, though she still looked sad. "Neither of the Dixon brothers make a very good first impression, do they? I know that Merle especially can be an asshole. But they're not that bad once you get to know them," she explained.

"So before the outbreak you and Daryl were…"

"Together," she said with a smile. "You aren't the first person to need a double-take, Glenn, and you certainly won't be the last. I thought I'd never see him again." Before the day was over, she would see Daryl again – almost like a dream.

"Did Guillermo say you're pregnant? I don't know if you want to talk about it, but does Daryl know?"

"I am pregnant, but Daryl doesn't know," she said quietly. "I hadn't known long but then the outbreak happened and I was called into Atlanta because I'm an epidemiologist. I left Daryl, figuring I would just tell him when I went home, but obviously I never got back home. We haven't seen each other in over two months so I haven't exactly gotten the opportunity to inform him."

"Do you know what he'll say?" Daryl had never struck him as the fatherly type, or the long term relationship type, or the nice to women type.

"No, but we'll talk through it. I'm just hoping the shock doesn't kill him."

 **2 Weeks Prior to the Apocalypse**

"So where're ya goin' this time?" Daryl grumbled.

"India," she sighed as she packed her bag. "Just remember that in a week I'll be back and we will be able to spend two blissful weeks together without interruption." She wrapped her arms around his torso, just as upset that they would have to be apart.

"They've been sendin' ya all over fer the past few months. Don't they know ya got a life?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I miss you so much every time I'm gone. But hey, you can smoke all you want, leave squirrels lying on the floor, leave the toilet seat up…"

"Ain't worth ya bein' gone so much. 'Sides, it ain't much of a sacrifice ta give up leavin' squirrels on the floor an' smokin'. An' jus' so ya know, I leave the seat down even when ya leave outta habit."

She laughed a little at his last comment. "Ever the gentlemen. Alright, then, imagine all the things I'm going to do to you when I get back. I promise it will be like nothing you've ever experienced."

"I guess I'll jus' spend some more time with Merle 'till ya get back." He wrapped his arms around her before kissing her long and hard. "I ain't mad at ya, I jus' wish this was easier is all."

"I've never once thought you were mad at me. Ben says that there will probably be fewer trips in the next couple months, once summer's over," she informed him with a hopeful smile. "I may be able to spend all winter here at home without a single trip."

"Now that _is_ somethin' ta look forward to." He kissed her one more time before telling her "I think ya need ta get outta here 'fore I make ya late fer yer plane." Her warm brown eyes looked sadly at him, knowing how difficult her job was making their lives.

* * *

"Are you looking forward to your two week fuck-fest with your redneck boyfriend?" Ben asked.

"Yes, actually, I am and nothing you can say will diminish my anticipation so when we land I expect all of you to work as quickly as possible. The sooner we analyze the river the sooner I can get home."

"Good work takes time," he reminded her, before turning to her and sighing irritably. "You're going to be pulling all-nighters again so we can get home faster – like in Nigeria."

"You bet your ass."

"Sometimes, I swear, you forget that I'm supposed to be your boss. You know, the one who's supposed to be telling you what to do and not the other way 'round."

She shrugged. "You and I both know that you're really only my boss in name only. I think I've called you 'sir' all of one time while we've known each other."

When they had landed and slept off their jet lag, Etta woke up feeling so nauseous she thought she might be sick. "Just great," she muttered. That was just what she needed: a compromised immune system while analyzing a river that was one big bacterial breeding ground.

"You look like hell," Ben told her casually as they began their walk to the river to pick up their samples.

"Say that again and I'll throw up on you," she threatened.

He laughed really hard at her comment as they set to work on getting their samples. (Honestly, even if she _had_ thrown up, both of them had seen much worse while they had been working in the field.) When they walked into the lab they would be working at he asked, "So how is your redneck, anyway? I forgot to ask."

"Fine; he's pissed that I'm gone so often, but fine."

"Hey," he said defensively, "You're preaching to the choir. I think my wife's about ready to storm headquarters and beat the shit out of our employers. And don't even get me started on my kids."

Etta sometimes forgot that the hours had to be hard on Ben, too. "So your wife's as fiery as ever?"

"Did you expect her to be otherwise?" he asked. "I swear if this shit doesn't kill me, then she will because she's so goddamn pissed."

"Sorry, bro."

Etta had hoped her nausea would pass before too long, especially since opted to skip breakfast, but it didn't appear to be going anywhere anytime soon. "Man, you really do look awful," Ben told her.

"I feel like shit. And of course the trip that I get sick is the trip we go to India where all the food is so spicy and only going to make me feel worse. I'm going to be sticking to naan."

"Tough break."

By now they had reached the lab and split into pairs, Carter and Morrison working in one area while Etta and Ben worked in another. "So you and that redneck have been together a while now, right?"

"Two years."

"So I guess you two are pretty damn serious. Think things will get even more serious?"

"Ben, why are you suddenly taking such an avid interest in my life?" she asked irritably.

"Just trying to make conversation," he huffed.

He was right. It wasn't like Etta and Ben had any secrets that the other didn't know. "I don't think he's the type to get married, if that's what you're asking," she said, answering his previous question.

Ben nodded, understanding. "So what do you want?"

She considered it for a moment. She had only rarely thought about her future with Daryl because the present was usually so sweet. "I just want to be with Daryl. Besides, I can't really imagine myself with anyone else at this point. So far, the furthest we've looked ahead is maybe taking a motorcycle trip at the end of the summer or in the early fall if I can get the time off. We've also talked about getting a dog," she added, thinking that a dog would at least be a sign of commitment.

"I guess as long as you're happy, then that's good but you two should talk at some point about where things are going, if they are going somewhere."

"You're probably right but when I get back all I want to do is enjoy the time I'm going to have with him."

"You mean you're going to use sex to avoid the subject," he accused her.

"Yep."

That night, Etta continued to work late on her report, eating while she worked. (Her nausea had finally passed in the mid-afternoon.) Even as she tried to concentrate on the bacteria levels in the Ganges, her mind continued to wander to what she and Ben had talked about: where she and Daryl were going. The more she thought about it, the more sure she was that she hoped they could possibly get married someday. And she _definitely_ wanted that dog.

The next morning, Etta was digging through her bag looking for clothes to wear at the lab when she came across the pads she had packed for the trip, her head beginning to do some math that she probably should have considered before she even left for the trip. She had already been pretty late when she had left for India and she thought for sure that she should have started by now. Fuck. The nausea from yesterday suddenly became a very unwelcome symptom.

She was in a daze the entire day as she worked. She would have to get a test the moment she got home so she would know with certainty, but at this point there was very little doubt in her mind. There was a strong chance she was pregnant and she had no idea what she wanted to do about it. Then there was Daryl. She didn't even have the balls to discuss whether their relationship was going somewhere or staying in the same place so how the hell was she supposed to have this discussion?

How would she even tell him if she _was_ pregnant? It wasn't exactly something that could easily be slipped into casual conversation. Moreover, she had no idea what he would want or how he would react. Both of them worked and she was jet-setting all over the world half of the time – not exactly ideal. (She could only imagine how well it would go if they asked 'Uncle Merle' to babysit.) Their house was small and they were still piss poor. She had barely even made a dent in her college debts!

And yet, she didn't know if she would be capable of going through with any of the other options.

* * *

Ben hadn't mentioned her distraction for the rest of the trip, probably thinking it was due to the conversation they had had regarding her future with Daryl. Well, there was a chance that her future with Daryl had become more or less solidified.

It was long after dark when she got into town but the convenience store was still open and much to her dismay, Kristen was working the counter. She picked up a shit-ton of chocolate – she would probably need that later – before picking up the test. As she placed her items on the counter, she saw Kristen's eyes go wide in shock. "Etta…?"

"Yeah." She felt like she might be sick. It all seemed so much more real now that the damn thing was sitting right in front of her eyes.

"I've never had a woman buy one of these who didn't come back pregnant," she informed Etta – unsurprising considering the women of their town bred like rabbits.

"I'm well aware that there is a strong likelihood it will come back positive," Etta replied numbly.

"Are you okay? Does Daryl know?"

"I'm fine." She knew that her voice was off, revealing that she wasn't quite fine. "But Daryl doesn't know, so I would appreciate you keeping this to yourself for the time being. I don't want to freak him out unless I'm sure. Plus, if it comes back positive I'm going to have a hard time working up the nerve to say anything."

"Well yer goin' to soon, right?"

"Of course, I think I just need a day to calm down a little. It's better if we're not both having a panic attack at the same time."

"Okay, well could you text me when ya know? An' tell me when Daryl knows?"

Considering Kristen was Etta's only female friend, she would be the first person Etta told about this. "You'll be the first to know."

When she got to the house she noticed that Daryl's truck wasn't there. Thank god for small miracles. She slipped the chocolate into the freezer for later before trying to find a safe place for the test until morning. Where would Daryl never look? She ended up placing the test in her tampon box and hid all evidence of the test's original box. Crawling into bed, she was kind of glad that he wasn't there so he couldn't tell how terrified she was for the results tomorrow morning, even if she had a good idea how the test would come back.

Etta woke up fairly early with Daryl next to her reeking of booze. Apparently he and Merle had enjoyed themselves the previous night which was lucky for her because it lowered the likelihood of Daryl waking up anytime soon.

She padded to the bathroom and gingerly took the test in hand.

She sat on the floor, so jittery she almost felt as if she were vibrating. Every second waiting on the test brought her heart rate higher until five minutes had passed. She grabbed the test only to see the result she had been expecting: positive.

She didn't want Daryl to see this before she could talk to him so she placed it and the box in the trashcan so that they were covered by tissues. Time to make coffee and mask the panic. Afterwards, she sat with her coffee, staring blankly at a wall as she tried desperately to work through her situation in her head and, at the very least, not hyperventilate. Etta also sent a text to Kristen that just said: +

Daryl came downstairs after a couple hours and Etta smiled at him, happy to see him even if she dreaded the conversation they would have to have soon. She practically leaped into him, hugging him so tight he was probably having trouble breathing. She didn't want to tell him the first day she was back, so she decided she would tell him either tomorrow or the next day.

While Daryl was showering she sent a text to Kristen: _I'll probably tell him in the next day or two but I'll let you know once I've done it._

As she waited on the reply, she opened one of the chocolate bars she had bought last night, sure that more were to come while she waited to tell Daryl.

Only seconds later she got a reply. _If you need anything just let me know. And tell me how he reacts._

Daryl came back downstairs so Etta quickly shut her phone to hide the conversation. "God I'm so happy yer back."

"So am I."

"Ya look a little funny. Everythin' alright?"

"Yeah, I'm just getting used to the time change, again. Now, let's start my vacation."


	7. Chapter 7

Guillermo stood at the single entrance of the nursing home waiting for Etta's redneck boyfriend. He despised the fact he would have to give the guns up, but at least this way he avoided a shootout. Etta had also promised to try and convince them to give up a few guns and he knew that she could be pretty persuasive so at least there was a little hope. She had suggested that he try to play the pity card so that was another option he was considering. He just had to remember that he was doing this for Etta, who had been so helpful and caring towards the elderly there from the time she began work.

When they approached, locked and loaded, he eyed the redneck up and down, trying to find what Etta saw in him. He personally thought that she was completely out of that asshole's league. "What're you lookin' at?" the hick demanded.

Guillermo ignored his comment and addressed the cop. "Threatening us with the guns won't be necessary," Guillermo grudgingly informed them.

"Why?" Rick demanded. "Are you going to let us have the guns and our man?"

Guillermo nodded. "You culeros are very lucky. We have someone here who vouched for your group – or at least for two of you. She said that Glenn and Dixon over there are good men."

Rick was a little stunned. Who would know both Glenn and Daryl, nevertheless be willing to vouch for them both?

Guillermo turned to Daryl. "Tell me, Dixon, do you know a woman named Etta?"

Daryl's reaction had everyone around him stunned. His eyes grew wide and he sprinted into the building without warning, yelling her name and completely abandoning what he had been doing.

"Daryl, what the hell are you doing?" Rick cried. But it was far too late because Daryl was already long gone. "I'm sorry he ran inside. We'll take him and make sure he doesn't do that again. Please don't retract the deal and please don't shoot him," he begged.

Guillermo laughed and shook his head. "Actually, that was the kind of reaction that I was hoping for. Release Miguel and come inside; we'll bring you to Glenn." Well, at least Guillermo knew the redneck cared about her.

* * *

Etta was taking care of some of the patients in the cafeteria when she heard her name being called distantly. Was it one of the Vatos?

The noise was coming closer and closer and she could distinctly hear the southern twang and desperation in the voice. It had to be Daryl. "Daryl!" she yelled.

Within moments he burst through the cafeteria doors and froze. It had been sixty-three days since they had seen one another and both were having a difficult time believing their eyes. He dropped his crossbow and ran towards her, bringing her into a bone-crushing hug. "I thought you were dead."

"I thought I'd never see you again."

He practically rammed his lips against hers, not giving a flying fuck who saw. Her brown eyes were brimming with tears and he could almost feel himself tearing up. (Now that was something he _wouldn't_ let the other people there see.) "Etta, your face," he said, his fingers gingerly tracing the scar that now ran from the side of her forehead almost to her chin. "Who did this to you? I'll kill them," he growled.

"They're already dead," she assured him, rubbing her thumb against his cheek. "The Vatos saved my life and took me in. I owe them so much."

Daryl was not usually the type of person to feel grateful to someone else, but now he knew that he was completely indebted to the people here. They could have the guns in the bag and all the guns at the camp as far as he was concerned. Etta was worth all of that and more. He pulled her in again, petting her long, black hair and trying to remember its exact scent before the apocalypse. Before this moment, he felt as if he was falling apart, flying out of control, but now it was as if all the broken pieces had suddenly been thrown back together.

By now Rick and Guillermo had reached the cafeteria. "We thought you were being eaten by dogs, man," T-Dog moaned, addressing Glenn. They also stared at Daryl and Etta, completely uncomprehending.

Rick and Guillermo left to 'talk' and Felipe walked into the cafeteria. "I suppose you guys are going to need to get back to your place, soon?" he asked.

T-Dog nodded. "They're probably already worried – no need to make it worse." He kept glancing at Etta, trying to figure out how the hell anyone could be attracted to Daryl.

Felipe turned to Etta. "You're going with them, aren't you?" Her face said it all and his shoulders slumped a little, realizing his friend would be leaving him. "You take care of yourself, and _you_ ," he said as he pointed at Daryl, "better not let anything happen to her or I will find you and kill you myself."

"I ain't gonna let nothin' happen ta her. Hell, I ain't even gonna let her outta ma sight." Daryl wanted to ask her about the test he had found more than two months ago, but this wasn't a good time. They _would_ talk when they got back to camp, though. Her shirt was loose enough that he couldn't tell if she was still pregnant – hell, he didn't even know whether she should be showing yet, not knowing a thing about that shit. He was unbelievably happy to see her but she had some explaining to do. No matter what she said, though, he couldn't be mad at her; he was too happy to see her alive to be mad. All that really mattered was that she was safe.

"You'd better go pack, then," Felipe said before hugging the woman. "Take some medical supplies with you; you don't know what they have there and I'm not about to send you in unprepared."

She hurried to her room and threw a few personal items in a bag. Then, she went to the supply room and grabbed various medicines that would probably be useful before meeting up with Daryl's group again. They were discussing the guns.

"Take 'em all," Daryl insisted which caused everyone else to give him strange looks.

"I say we split them," Guillermo suggested. "We do need guns here, but we aren't sending Etta to a group that can't defend itself. You can even have your pick."

Rick began sorting through the guns and ammo, giving some of them to the Vatos. As he did this, Daryl approached Guillermo. "I don't say this often," he said awkwardly "But thank you for taking care of her."

"Our pleasure. We're just happy she found you." Guillermo at least felt comfortable sending Etta back with this man: he seemed to care a great deal about her.

Daryl never broke physical contact with Etta on the way to the van, but dropped her hand in shock once they realized it was gone.

"Merle!"

"He's going to bring vengeance back to camp," Daryl warned them.

Before they began running, he took her pack from her and put it on so she wouldn't have to carry it. He was about to give her one of the guns from the bag but she pulled her own handgun from her backpack. "Never thought you'd carry," he said in disbelief.

"I never thought your shooting and survival lessons would ever actually come in handy."

* * *

The run to the camp had not been enjoyable but Etta figured all she would have to deal with when she got there was an angry Merle but she could handle that – maybe even calm him down. Instead, she found that the entire place was being invaded by the dead, people everywhere were being eaten alive, and gunfire was ubiquitous. She began shooting the things with her handgun and wished that she had put more effort into becoming a better shot. She was by no means a terrible shot, Daryl had guaranteed that much, but she still couldn't compete with his shooting skills.

Daryl stayed very close to Etta during the shooting, making sure that none of the walkers got too close. He wanted her to go to the Winnebago, but she had a gun and that meant she was too valuable to send away. Once all the damn things were put down Etta pulled the backpack off him and out came the armory of medical supplies she had brought. Daryl supposed that she would never be broken of certain habits: she would always be a doctor.

Daryl left to check on the perimeter of the camp, making sure that none of the walkers had escaped notice.

Etta was leaned over a body trying to determine whether or not it was dead because the body clearly belonged to one of the people who had been living at the camp. She couldn't find a pulse but their skull appeared to be completely intact so she took her gun and shot them through the head. She was about to move on to the next body when she was approached by a large man with dark hair. "While I appreciate the help I hope you don't mind me asking: who the hell are you?"

"My name is Etta Weaver and I was living in Atlanta."

She was about to continue but the man appeared to recognize the name. "You're Glenn's girl?"

"Well I wouldn't say I'm his girl…"

"The one he met in Atlanta in the Walgreens?" She nodded in response. "Well alright, then," he said, appearing to be satisfied. "My name is Shane Walsh. I guess you've had quite the welcome to the quarry."

"You can certainly say that," she responded. "So are you the leader or something?"

He rubbed the back of his head. "I guess you could say that. Just keep doing what you're doing, I guess. That some kind of medical kit?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'm a doctor so I think I can be useful."

At this Shane became very excited. "Well I guess I should be a little friendlier, then. We don't want to lose a doctor who brought medical supplies with her. Welcome to the quarry!" he declared.

He offered her his hand and she shook it. He seemed nice enough but she set right back to work inspecting the bodies.

* * *

It had been a very long night for everyone at the camp and Etta was trying to help as best she could. She had finally had a chance to examine all the bodies, apart from the one the blonde woman was protecting, when she heard a woman yell that someone named Jim had been bitten. She sighed, packing her medical supplies away.

"Why are you doing that?" Rick asked. "He's a sick man and he needs help. You have a lot of medicine, don't you?"

She prepared herself for the awkwardness of the upcoming conversation. "There's nothing I can do. You all know that there isn't a cure."

"Can't you make him comfortable, at least? Take his fever down?"

Etta pinched the bridge of her nose. "If I thought that the medicine would actually make a difference then I might consider it, but even when we had hospital resources, we could only bring the fever down by a few degrees – not enough to make him comfortable."

"Well, maybe we can find a cure," Rick suggested. "The CDC may be an option."

The others began arguing but none of them really knew what they were talking about. "There is no cure!" Etta insisted. "Nobody was anywhere close when my facility fell. Now, the CDC may be a good idea, but not because I think there's any chance of finding a cure there."

Shane looked at her curiously. "What do you mean 'your facility'?"

"I'm not a G.P." she sighed. "I was an epidemiologist. When things started to get a little crazy, I was called into Atlanta where I worked in one of many makeshift research facilities that popped up during the outbreak. It was a complete and total disaster. We couldn't even treat the symptoms to make victims of the illness more comfortable." She shook her head in defeat. "While we were still in contact with the CDC, they were no closer to a cure than we were and their facility was a lot better than ours."

"So why do you think the CDC is a good idea?" Shane asked. "Wouldn't Fort Benning be safer?"

"Not necessarily. The CDC is more secure than Fort Benning. In fact, it's designed to withstand disasters like this because no one wants the crazy shit in there to get out."

"How do you know there's anyone there? They could have all left."

"I worked with the CDC a couple of times and had the opportunity to meet the woman running the facility in Atlanta. Candace Jenner would never have left that facility unless she had found a cure and her husband would never leave without _her_. They'll still be there – I'm sure of it."

"She makes a good point, Shane," Rick said. "She's confident that it hasn't been overrun and she's confident that she knows people inside. That is two advantages the CDC has over Fort Benning. Do you think the Jenners will let us in?" he asked.

"If nothing else, they may do so out of curiosity. They'll want to know what the conditions were at other research facilities and I was under the impression that Candace liked me. She may also want us three to discuss her theories on the disease so I'd say if we go there we have a good chance of them letting us in."

Dale walked up to put in his two cents. "It sounds like a good shot to me." He didn't know who this woman was, but given her previous profession she seemed like a very reliable source.

"Okay, I'm sorry, but who are you?" Lori asked, a little irritated that a stranger to the group was suddenly part of the decision-making process. The thin woman didn't notice the death glare sent her way by Daryl.

"My name is Etta Weaver. They found me in Atlanta and I decided to come back with them. I would have introduced myself earlier, but things were a little chaotic."

"Glenn vouched for her," Shane informed them. "Now, given the fact that Etta is a doctor, she can be very useful to us. As far as Jim is concerned, what would you recommend we do?" Etta was very happy that at least one person was on her side concerning Jim and she was very grateful for his confidence in her.

"I won't give him medicine that isn't going to do him any good. I do have a number of options that can bring fevers down, but I think we need to save those. Our facility tried to quantify the amount of pain the victims were in and in every single case the patient said their pain level was a ten, the most extreme pain. To corroborate their information, the pain centers in the brain lit up in ways I had never seen before. If I was bitten, I would want someone to spare me that pain. Now I'm not saying we should put a pickaxe through his head," she glanced at Daryl "but it would be more humane to put a bullet through his head or give him an overdose on something in my kit than it would be to let him die of the fever."

"I don't know about anyone else," Shane announced "But I'm inclined to go with what the good Dr. Weaver recommends." It seemed Shane was the only one who felt comfortable with her assessment because everyone looked at the ground sadly, as if not wanting to consider the fact that there was nothing they could do for their friend. People continued to burn bodies and bury the dead while others prepared to leave for the CDC. As people busied themselves, Etta was approached by Shane. "You save those medicines for people who can actually be saved," he told her. She nodded quietly in response. "You know, I'm not surprised that you ain't Glenn's girl. He's a bit young for you."

He couldn't tell, but Shane thought she was smiling as if she knew something he didn't know. "I would agree with you. He _is_ a little younger than my choice." Etta figured it couldn't hurt to have a little fun with Shane before he figured out she was with Daryl.

"Oh you have a choice already picked out, do you?" he asked with a smirk.

"I most certainly do," she replied.

"Well Rick's married so I hope you didn't have your eye on him."

"The sheriff?" she scoffed. "Not my type at all."

"So what exactly is your type, Dr. Weaver?" he asked flirtatiously.

"You'll find out soon enough, Officer Walsh."

"You promise?" he asked with a smile, as if he had conquered her already.

"Oh I definitely promise."

"I guess I'll be seeing you around, then. I gotta go help with the bodies right now, but maybe later…?"

She smiled sweetly. "We'll see."

It didn't take too long for Daryl to come storming over. "What was you talking 'bout with the cop?"

"Well, he told me not to waste the medicines I had brought and then it appeared as if he was interested in me. I may have given him the impression that I was reciprocated his feelings in order to make things more interesting when I get into your truck with you later."

"That is one evil plan – I like it," he informed her. "And I would certainly like to see the grin wiped right off Pretty Boy's face."

Etta knew it wasn't the right time, but she had to see how Daryl was handling the fact that Merle was missing. "Glenn told me about Merle. Are you going to be okay?"

"Merle's fine, he just ain't comin' back here. Can't blame him, though, seein' as they chained him to a roof an' left him there." Daryl was, understandably, still bitter about what had happened on the rooftop.

"I'm sorry. I liked Merle."

"Don't know why." He paused. "Just so's you know: he wished you was here."

Etta gave him a small smile to show she appreciated the fact that Merle may have actually missed her. "Well, you and I managed to find each other; the same thing could happen with Merle. I even ran into Glenn again."

"The funny thing is," he laughed. "Is that you really do believe that; yer not feeding me a line of bullshit you don't think is true."

"It's a small world," she reminded him. "Do you know what's going to happen with Jim?"

"Rick's gonna try and take him with us to the CDC, but you and I both know he ain't gonna make the trip."

"He doesn't want to be put down? He wants to become a walker, as you call them?"

"I guess he must because he ain't said nothin' 'bout puttin' him outta his misery. Shane is right 'bout one thing: we can't go wastin' the stuff you took from the Vatos. We gotta conserve it."

Etta retreated into the Winnebago to check on Jim's condition and needless to say, he was declining rapidly; he would probably be dead within the day. His fever was quickly rising and his blood pressure was dropping as the disease invaded his body. "So what's the diagnosis, Doc?" he joked.

"Take an aspirin and call me in the morning," she replied, causing him to laugh. Humor was about the only thing she could give him, now.

As everyone was saying their goodbyes to the Morales family, Shane kept stealing glances at Etta, which pissed Daryl off to no end. When everyone was getting ready to go, Shane was about to approach Etta when Daryl pulled her in and kissed her hard, like he had when they had seen each other in the cafeteria. The look of shock on Shane's face was absolutely priceless but the looks on the faces of everyone else were almost as entertaining as Daryl and Etta climbed into his truck.

They gave each other matching smirks. "That was fun," she laughed.

Before they could get very far, the RV broke down and the entire group had to stop. Here, Jim decided to be left behind.

While they were waiting for Dale to fix the Winnebago, Shane came up to Etta, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm sorry," she said. "I really just couldn't resist the temptation – I meant no harm by it. But you should know that Daryl and I were together long before the outbreak so it's not as if I just strolled into camp and then jumped into his truck with him."

"That's fine, I ain't gonna hold a grudge for that. It's just… _Daryl Dixon_? I really don't get it."

"I guess he and I just never tried to make sense of it; we just let it be."

He sighed. "Well, I'm gonna go say goodbye to Jim. I still mean everything I said 'bout how I trust your judgment with the medical stuff."

"Thank you."

She was about to follow Shane to Jim when the older man – Dale – came up to her with a very excited face. "Were you with Daryl before the outbreak?" She nodded, a little confused as Dale pulled her into a hug. "You have no idea how happy I am. He was a bit of a wreck."

"I guess it's nice to know that I'm so welcome," she replied awkwardly. "Truth be told, though, there were times when I was quite a wreck without him, too."

Quick goodbyes were said to Jim and Daryl sat waiting for Etta in the car. He was trying to decide if now was the time to talk to her, but once the truck started running, she fell asleep almost instantly in the seat. He'd let her sleep.


End file.
